


Heatwaves

by thesecondseal



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal Abuse Mention, Animal rehabilitation, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Modern Kirkwall (Dragon Age), Modern Thedas, Rehabilitation, Summer Love, Summer Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-22 06:04:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 79,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11374107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecondseal/pseuds/thesecondseal
Summary: From an unposted want ad:"Roommate Needed. Non-smoker. Must Love Dogs. Must not mind sweltering heat and humidity and a lack of air conditioning. Must be willing–and able–to stay out of my damn way. I’m not looking for a buddy. Pets accepted. Rent and utilities split evenly on an adorable seaside cottage a million miles from the asphalt and stench of Kirkwall."





	1. Must Love Dogs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Essa's best friend has found the woman of his dreams. Now Fin and Bethany Hawke are moving out and Essa must find a roommate if she’s going to keep her seaside cottage outside of Kirkwall. Against her better judgment, Bethany introduces Essa to her brother–who needs a place to stay for him and his puppy Caleb. A place out of Kirkwall and out of trouble–only to find out that two of them have already met.

  ** _Late Cloudreach_**

_Roommate ~~Wanted.~~_ No, not wanted. _Needed._

The last thing Essa Trevelyan  _wanted_  was to share her cottage with a stranger, but as it wasn’t strictly hers in any real sense, and she only had a enough saved up to cover the full rent for another few months, she was going to have to suck it up or lose the lease. She and Fin had lived here for two years—two perfect years—and she wasn’t going to give the place up without a fight. The old caretaker’s house was nestled at the foot of a neglected lighthouse, came complete with a gardening shed and a four stall stable. The view was breathtaking, sea to the south, pasture to the north, sheer cliffs to the east, and dunes to the west. There was a short walk down to a rocky beach and the empty village of Seaside, long abandoned to sea oats and ghosts. Kirkwall was a good half hour drive west and most tourists didn’t come this far out when there were white sand beaches and gentler tides closer to the city.

_Non-smoker, must love dogs._

“How’s it going?”

Essa didn’t look up from the want ad samples she had pulled up on her laptop. “How’s it look like it’s going?”

She stabbed viciously at the peacock feathered memo pad she’d swiped off of the refrigerator. There were only three sheets left.  Not long ago Bethany would have already replaced it with something just as fancy; she liked stationery, snazzy pens. They used the fridge along with the bathroom mirror as note stations. There was a dry erase marker hanging from the top of the medicine cabinet on a silk ribbon. Essa was as likely as not to ignore her phone and she snarled at using technology to keep up with the people she lived with. She was going to have to get Beth and Fin special ringtones or something. Essa sighed.

“About like I expected.”

Fin sat down in the chair across from her, stretched his long legs out beneath the table until his bare toes curled cool and steady against hers. It was only the end of Cloudreach and with the sea breeze coming in through the open windows and doors, it wasn’t hot yet, but another few months and...

 _Must not mind sweltering heat and humidity and a lack of air conditioning,_ Essa added to her list, each word an angry scratch.

“I’m sorry.” Fin’s lips twisting slightly; he leaned forward to swipe Essa’s water bottle.

Living with her best friend had been easy. She and Fin had come to Kirkwall together. Fin chasing a coveted apprenticeship with one of the Free Marches’s most talented metalworkers, Essa as an instructor for the Templar Working Dog program. They didn’t recruit often outside of the military, but she’s made a name for herself back in Ostwick, and one of her rehabbed fight dogs had become a PTSD therapy dog for the local knight commander. He had been impressed enough to offer her a reasonable salary in addition to tuition for whatever training programs she might want to enroll in as long as she brought her expertise back to the Tower’s mabari and their enlisted humans. It was a good job; Essa liked the work and she liked the exposure for her rescue efforts.

“What do you have to be sorry about?” There was too much growl in the words. Just another part of her waiting to be misunderstood by some stranger. She waited for Fin to finish off her water. “Refill that. I want ice and lemon.”

 _Must be willing to stay out of my damn way,_ she wrote as Fin got up to refill the insulated bottle.  _I’m not looking for a buddy._

She and Fin had known each other their entire lives and they were well past the need for coherent verbal communication. Half the time they spoke in grunts, not much better than mabari themselves. Maker knew how Beth had lived with them both as long as she had. They  _knew_ each other. Fin could tell when she needed space; they both knew when they needed silence, and—may Andraste’s Mabari, bless the man—Fin was adept at knowing just when to pry and prod her out of one brood or another.

“We’re out of lemons.” He sat back down, left the bottle equidistance between them for sharing. “Beth will be bringing some home, I’m sure.” Fin smiled, but his blue eyes were soft with sadness. “For what it’s worth, I don’t want to go either.”

Essa snorted. “Liar.”

It was time. They both knew it was. He and Bethany were forever, even if they hadn’t exchanged vows yet. There was no one in Thedas more perfect for Fin, no one who could possibly love him more or better. She had moved in six months ago, and the three of them had quickly found an easy rhythm that suited all of them, but Bethany’s understandable commitment issues were fading; they were ready for a place of their own.

“Maybe,” Fin chuckled. “But I don’t want to leave you. Shaking this whole codependency thing is hard,” he joked.

“Damn right it is.” Essa laughed. “But we are not codependent.”

They’d gone most of their lives counting only on each other, but they could make their own way. They had proven that to themselves and each other by going to separate colleges half a world apart. This was nothing so bad as that. This was half an hour and every Sunday together for brunch, Friday barbeques with their found family, holidays on the shore. This wouldn’t be so bad. Essa just didn’t want to lose the cottage.

“We knew one day you’d find the love of your life, Fin.”

Essa stared out the open back door, watched the late afternoon paint the headland in shades of gold. She could only be grateful that woman Fin loved understood something of what Essa and Fin were to one another. Bethany had her own siblings, had lost her twin brother not long before she and Fin met. She her older brother were close, for all that Beth tended to swear about him.

“You could go with us.”

Essa’s braying guffaw echoed coarsely through the quiet kitchen.

“As if I’d leave the beach.” She shook her head. “Besides, there’s maybe two usable rooms in that family ‘estate’—” she lifted both hands and made air quotes “—of Bethany’s. I’m not moving into a derelict antique just so you can get free labor out of me.”

If Fin and Bethany were very, very lucky, they’d have the place mostly habitable within a year, and even that wouldn’t make it a place Essa would want to live.

“Can you really see me living in Hightown?”

“No.”

He took another drink of water. Essa reached across the table, palm up and fingers wiggling until he gave her his hand.  

“You wouldn’t want me to go anyway.”

“You don’t know that.” His chin jutted stubbornly as he laced their fingers together, but there was merriment in his eyes.

“I do.” Essa grinned at him. “You can’t very well spend all weekend naked or shaking rafters or screaming yourself hoarse if you’re stuck sharing a place with someone, especially someone who may as well be your sister.”

Fin closed his eyes, covered his face with his free hand just for good measure. “That’s not what couples do, Essa.”

He was two years younger than she was and only marginally more experienced with relationships. Essa wasn’t certain Fin could count himself an authority.

“Pity.” She snickered. “It’s fine, Fin.”

Essa leaned forward, pulled his hand to her lips and bussed a clumsy kiss to his knuckles. “We’ll see each other all the time.”

She wouldn’t be nearly so bent out of shape about if it she could just keep the place to herself.

“I know.” He squeezed her hand before he let go. “Let’s see this ad of yours.”

He opened his eyes, ran his hand through his short red hair.

“’Roommate wanted’,” he read aloud; Essa cleared her throat and he amended quickly, “’ _needed_.’ Non-smoker, must love dogs.” He was laughing as he continued, “Must not mind sweltering heat and humidity and a lack of air conditioning.’ Yeah, that ought to bring them in.”

“‘Must be willing to stay out of my damn way…’Essa you can’t post this,” he was laughing so hard he could barely read.

“I’m not looking for friends, Fin.” Essa tapped her pen on the table. “Just someone to split the rent on a cottage with no air conditioner thirty minutes outside of town…”

She clunked her head to the table. Fin moved quickly enough to catch the brunt of her fall in one wide palm. No one was going to want this place. It was why she loved it so much.

“You know…maybe I can turn the barn into a rehab clinic, get the Templars to foot some of my rent each month in exchange for expanding my rescue and training efforts. Wouldn’t be so bad having a place outside of the city.”

Fin hummed thoughtfully. “I think you’d do better asking Rutherford for a raise.”

Essa scoffed. They both knew that wasn’t happening, not without enlisting. The templars might not be what they once were, but they were still too organized for her. Essa didn’t handle chain of command well.

“I could register with one of those B&B sites,” Essa mused. “Fix the spare bedroom up cute, keep the fridge stocked. Surely there’d be some folks wanting to spend a few days on the beach, even without ac.”

“And trade a single stranger for dozens over the summer and none in the winter?” Fin shook his head. “You’d injure someone.”

He passed her water bottle to her. “You’re nurturing to a fault, Es, but you’re no hostess.”

Essa humphed, downed half the water in several consecutive gulps.

“You know,” Fin said, thoughtfully. “Bethany’s brother is moving back to town.”

“Absolutely not,” Bethany called sharply through the screen door. She was just coming up the back steps door, a grocery bag tucked under one arm, a chic black briefcase under the other. Fin jumped up to open the door for her. “Every time I introduce that barbarian to one of my friends, they fall head over heels for him and he breaks their heart.”

“Intentionally?” Essa asked, because that mattered even if Bethany’s glower didn’t seem to think so.

“No,” Bethany huffed, dropping her bags to the counter. There were shadows in her eyes when she looked at Fin. “I love Essa, losing her would be bad enough, but, Fin…if I lose Essa, I lose you.”

“You wouldn’t,” Essa and Fin denied together.

“You don’t know that.” Bethany shoved futilely at her long dark hair. “You can’t.”

“We can.”

Fin pulled Bethany into his arms, tucked her head beneath his chin. Bethany wrapped her arms tightly around his narrow waist and clung. Yeah, Essa thought, not for the first time in so many months. They needed their own space.

“Is that why you’ve been so careful to avoid introducing the two of them?” Fin’s question fell soft on Bethany’s hair.

“Maybe,” she sighed. “It hasn’t been that hard with him traveling so much this past year, but—”

“Wait,” Essa interrupted with a laugh. “All this time you’ve kept us apart because you didn’t want me to meet him?”

Bethany nodded miserably.

“Garrett Hawke?” Essa asked for emphasis. “Amateur Boxing Champion of Kirkwall, ego the size of Ferelden?”

Beth pulled away from Fin, turned in his arms so that she could stare at Essa. “You’ve met him?”

“Oh, yeah.” Essa’s nose couldn’t quite keep her nose from curling. “Wasn’t impressed. Can’t say I want him for a roommate, but you’ve no worries about me falling for Garrett fucking Hawke.”

~*~

Three years earlier, University of Val Royeaux:

 _Essa was done, never had she felt so acutely the two years age gap between herself and most of the other seniors, but she was too old for this shit.  It was her last fundraiser of her last semester of undergrad, and the entire morning was ruined. Her hair was neon-fucking green—that was the last time, the LAST time, she let Sera talk her into dressing up for All Soul’s Day no matter how much she adored her suite mate—she hadn’t had anything for breakfast but half of a truly terrible homemade cookie and she couldn’t find her_ Fine Whines and Lickers _tshirt. The mabari rescue was hosting a bully breeds awareness day at the university and Essa was in charge of an educational booth about dog fighting and recovering fight dogs._

_“Here.” Sera threw her a bright yellow t shirt as they crossed East Quad. There was a dark blue line drawing of a mabari puppy in a fancy goblet and a ketchup stain on one sleeve. “You can wear mine. Doc Viv won’t expect me to be useful anyway.”_

_Doctor de Fer took everything seriously, a characteristic that Essa admired especially given that one of the professor’s most treasured causes was one so near and dear to Essa’s heart. She seemed perpetually, and indulgently disappointed in Sera. For her part, Sera was unabashedly fond of the woman._

_“Thank you.” Essa handed Sera her backpack, yanked her faded tank top off over her head to the cheers and hoots of passerbys._

_“Oi!” Sera shouted, taking Essa’s tank from her. “You ogle the goods, you pay the tax!”_

_Essa tugged Sera’s shirt on over her head before anyone could rack of up too great a tab. The t shirt, of course, didn’t fit her for shit, being two sizes too small across her breasts and rucking up far too many inches above the waistband of her khaki cargos. By the Mabari, she grimaced when she caught her reflection in the student center windows, she looked like she belonged at a sorority charity car wash._

_“Daaaamn…” Sera drawled, passing Essa her bag. “You’ll earn all the money for the puppers today, Es.”_

_Essa slunk to her booth, hoping to avoid Doctor de Fer’s well-deserved disapproval while Sera ran around doing…well, Essa wasn’t sure what Sera was doing this morning, but when she came bouncing back with a hair elastic, a giant cup of coffee, and a bucket of donations, Essa forgave her without question._

_“It’s not so bad,” Sera said, braiding Essa’s long green hair back into something that might have resembled a fishtail. “With the sleeves rolled up you can’t see the ketchup, and your biceps are almost as good as mine.”_

_“I’ll take that as a compliment from the school archery champ,” Essa said wryly, setting her coffee aside and reaching down to pat Greta, her very best gal and the most talented mabari ambassador Essa had ever met._

_“Right you will.” Sera stepped back in front of Essa, surveying her handywork. “You’ve also got those—“ she held her hands up in front of her smaller breasts, whistled appreciatively. “Things of beauty, Es.”_

_She reached in her pocket for a sovereign._

_“Enough, you heathen.” Essa laughed, slapping lightly at Sera’s hands. “Go check on Basch and Lady for me? They’re probably ready for a proper walk.”_

_The mabari siblings were over at the main stage. They’d been performing tricks and charming students out of treats and kisses for the last hour._

_“Will do.” Sera threw her a mock salute and darted off leaving Essa, and the hangover headache she was not admitting to, to fend for herself for the next hour._

_The booth stayed pleasantly busy. Most folks were genuinely interested in Greta’s story, in seeing how far the former fight dog had come. The before pictures always ripped out Essa’s heart, but seeing Greta happy and healthy and surrounded by adoring fans despite her scars always took away some of the sting. When one girl left, face covered in tears and Greta’s slobbery comfort, and Essa knew they’d recruited another volunteer to the rescue. There were a few flirt-boys who came by to ogle Essa in her too small shirt, but she didn’t give them much grief since they also greeted Greta with croons and scratches and left cash in the mabari’s bucket._

_The morning might almost have been redeemed..._

_“I don’t want to be rude.” Essa was flirting with a girl from her art history class—mostly laughing about her abysmal morning—when the low, snide rumble interrupted them. “But you’re here to do an actual job, right?”_

_“Excuse me?” Essa turned slowly to face him. “May I help you?”_

_She folded her arms beneath her breasts, glared up at six foot four inches of arrogant swagger.  He flashed her a smile that somehow managed to be charming and condescending at once. Essa had never wanted to punch a stranger so badly in her life._

_“Garrett Hawke.”_

_He stuck his hand out, a dare she wasn’t stupid enough to take. There was something vaguely familiar about the name, but Essa couldn’t remember why he was supposed to be important. She told him so, even as she tried to ignore Greta lying prostrate at his feet, belly up and nub wagging so hard Essa thought the dog would injure herself._

_“Kirkwall University Heavyweight Champ last two years,” he continued, dark eyes narrowing with annoyance._

_He was just the type to think everyone owed him something, Essa thought, not hiding a sneer. All roguish good looks, broad shoulders and fighter’s muscles, dark hair a sleep-tousled mess that he probably spent an hour and six products affecting._

_“I’m here to take pictures with this beautiful lady—“ Greta whined happily as Garrett crouched to scratch her jaw with one hand and rub her belly with the other. “For the_ Fine Whines and Lickers _calendar.”_

_Dammit. Fucking dammit. Essa groaned._

_Garrett grinned, all sass. “I’m Mr. Cloudreach.”_

_“Of course you are,” she sighed, tried to put on something of a professional tone. “On behalf of the rescue, we thank you so much for donating your time and image to our cause, Mr. Hawke.”_

_She could only hope those last words weren’t crimped between her teeth._

_The asshole smiled, and to make it worse, they sold twice as many calendars that year and Cloudreach ended up being their most popular month._

~*~

“I’m sorry. I just don’t see another way, Garrett.” Bethany paced across the carnage that would one day be a very elegant modern kitchen. At present it was mostly rubble and a table saw. Garrett didn’t envy his future brother-in-law, though Fin, sick bastard that he was, seemed to enjoy every last bit of the work. “You’ve been back in town a solid week,” she continued in an infuriatingly practical tone. “And you’ve been in three bar fights.”

Garrett, balanced on a wobbly barstool, glared at her blearily over the cold stainless edge of the enswell, hoping he’d caught the swelling in time. He hadn’t been entirely surprised to find the eye iron in Beth’s refrigerator; it was almost as if she had expected him to get in trouble.

“This is the modern age,” Bethany lectured implacably, stepping neatly over a pile of broken MDF and corroded pipes. The flip flop of her sandals were the only disturbance in the early morning quiet. Garrett was lulled into taking a sip of his coffee.

“You cannot--” She slapped her hands down on the new granite countertop between them, hard enough that the puppy in his lap startled.

“Easy.” Garrett curled his lip in ire, knowing full well his sister wasn’t cowed. “She’s not going to hurt you.”

He dipped his chin, nuzzling the top of the mabari’s dark head with nose and closed lips. Caleb was only two months old, a wriggling bundle of black brindle with a heart like...well nothing had a heart like a mabari, though Caleb was determined to roar like a Hinterland’s bear if he wasn’t taken outside the moment he decided he needed to go. He was adjusting to Kirkwall at least as well as Garrett. He liked Bethany and Fin, found the jungle of their backyard an endless source of the worst kinds of mischief. He’d cut his back leg the day before yesterday; Beth had to put three stitches in it. Not that Caleb seemed to notice.  The pup was the best kinds of intrepid, but he had been born on a farm outside of Denerim. He didn’t like loud or sudden noises and the city was full of them even when Bethany wasn’t yelling.

Garrett wasn’t certain he was suited for the constant bustle either, but what was done was done.

“I’m sorry,” Bethany murmured, reaching across the counter to stroke Caleb’s nose. The puppy whined pitifully, hamming it up. Garrett knew the exact moment the pup had Bethany wrapped around his little paw. “But, Garrett, you can’t just go knocking heads in taverns and coming home at odd hours. I’m not starting my days calling the Watch on some miscreant like I did this morning.”

It wasn’t what he wanted for his mornings either, but--  “Jerry?”  Garrett shook his head. “Jerry’s a bunch of bluster and cowardice. He wasn’t going to do anything.”

She was pissed, but Garrett couldn’t help needling her. He had spent too much of the past four years away; he’d missed her attempts at looking after him.

“He punched you in the face!” Bethany hissed, before cooing soothingly to Caleb.

A lucky shot, and only because Garrett hadn’t been paying attention. He had come straight home and taken Caleb out for his morning walk. Caleb had been taking his sweet time doing his business and he had only just begun to squat when Jerry showed up and started yelling. Garrett hadn’t wanted to disrupt the pup—housetraining was difficult enough as it was, thank you very damn much—and had been trying to reason with the guy instead of leading with his fists like he used to.

“And then he went on his way,” Garrett reminded Bethany, scratching Caleb beneath the chin. “He tipped his hat at you, and apologized. Even offered to come back and pick up the glass and pay for a new window.”

Jerry had still been more than a little drunk; he had mistakenly taken blame for some of the debris what had once been the garage.

“You probably should have taken him up on that last,” Garrett mused. “This place could use all the help—”

“I should have let him finish knocking your damn face in.” She came around the counter to thump him hard on the arm, then took Caleb, cuddling the puppy to her cheek until he licked her neck. “You look terrible,” Bethany added, frowning down at Garrett.

Caleb was watching him steadily, blue eyes gleaming with mabari intelligence and no small amount of concern. It really wasn’t that bad--a black eye and bruised cheek bone--though Garrett knew better than to try to tell Bethany or Caleb so. That bad or not, he hadn’t meant to bring that kind, or any other kind, of trouble to his sister’s door.

“I’ll move my things down to  _the Hanged Man_  tonight,” he assured her.

He and Caleb had been sleeping on Bethany and Fin’s couch while he looked for a job and a more permanent place to stay. Problem was, the jobs he was good at weren’t always over the table, and except for his subcontracts from the Watch, proof of income was hard to come by. His assets didn’t stack up on paper to meet half the tenancy requirements out there. So far none of the places that would accept him as a resident had proven to be any place he’d want to live. That was before he added the extra difficult of being a pet owner.

“You won’t.” She leaned forward across the counter to pass Caleb back to him. “Corff won’t have you after Tuesday’s fiasco.” Her dark hair was still loose; it fell across her face. Caleb got a mouthful and tugged. “Besides,” and there was genuine regret in her eyes. “No dogs.”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” Garrett scowled. “Sleep on my bike?”

He had known Bethany was pissed, but he never would have thought she’d threaten him with homelessness. Alright, maybe him, but not Caleb.

“No.” Her lips twitched, an almost smile that had Garrett groaning even as she continued, “Fin’s begging on your behalf.”

“Absolutely not. I’ll stay with Varric.”

“Absolutely not,” Varric retorted just as quickly. “Sorry, Hawke.” He spread his hands before him, fingers stretching wide in defense. “We’d be on each other’s nerves in a week and you know it.”

He had come over early, bailing Garrett out of the worst of Bethany’s temper with a quiche from Beth’s favorite breakfast spot. Or so Garrett had thought. Now he was beginning to suspect the two of collusion.

“You think Trevelyan and I won’t?”

An unmitigated disaster is what they were asking for. He and Essa had gotten off on the wrong foot the very first time they met and the second time hadn’t been any better. The woman was impossible to charm. Oh, she might have a wide easy smile and eyes as guileless as a Chantry sister’s, but she didn’t have Garrett fooled. She was stingy with her good graces, and despite his attempts to be polite—attempts she didn’t deserve—he remained firmly outside of them. She had barely said a dozen words to him at the welcome home party Bethany and Fin had thrown him, and those had only been to assure him that she would be civil if he could. That it was the least they could do for Fin and Bethany.

“I have a studio apartment,” Varric was saying. “And a cat who hates Caleb. Essa trains mabari and has a whole house and a huge fenced in yard. Plenty of space for the two of you to avoid eachother in. You get tired of glaring at one another and you can go to your rooms.”

“We do not glare at each other.”

Of course, that was as bald a lie as any he’d ever told. Every time he had so much as glanced her way, Essa’s had leveled that flat grey stare right back at him, face utterly inscrutable. He still didn’t understand what she had to hold a grudge about. She was the one who’d turned his favorite set of dice against him and killed his mage.

“We can be civil.”

“Good,” Bethany nodded as if that decided everything. “Because she needs the rent and you and Caleb need a place outside of Kirkwall with a safe yard.”

She wasn’t wrong. Maker’s breath, he hated it when she wasn’t wrong.

“Denerim’s outside of Kirkwall,” Garrett muttered. Seven days and already he was wishing he was back in Ferelden. “Remind me again why I came back here.”

Bethany blew him a kiss. “Because you missed me. Because one day we’re going to have mom’s home restored and you’re going to be an uncle.”

Garrett glowered at her.

“One day far in the future,” she amended. “Besides, you were bored in Denerim.”

He was brooding, but he appreciated Bethany’s hedging of a truth they all knew.

“Ready?” Fin asked, seeming to appear so suddenly that Garrett and Caleb both startled.

Another reason to move, though Garrett didn’t hold it against the other man. He walked too softly, moved like a spirit. Garrett wasn’t sure when he would stop jumping at shadows, but it wouldn’t be here, surrounded by old family ghosts.

“She said yes?” Bethany was surprised.

“She said to bring the puppy out to meet her pack,” Fin replied with a smile, jangling a set of car keys. “And that if Garrett can stay out of her way, she’d be glad for the rent money.”

“‘Glad’?” Garrett asked skeptically. But no that sounded about right.

Varric laughed, following his thoughts too easily. “She had no trouble taking the shirt off your back the first time you met, Hawke.”

“What?” Bethany blinked.

Garrett kicked Varric’s foot as he walked by the dwarf’s chair. “I’m not telling it.” He set Caleb down on the backdoor mat, took his leash from the nail currently serving as a coat peg. “I’d rather not remember it at all.”

“Melodramatic much?” Bethany was giggling, as if she thought she knew something of the story. Maybe she did. Varric did like to talk.

Garrett was going to kill him.

“She won it from me.” He clipped Caleb’s leash to his collar and started out into a beautiful summer morning. It wasn’t hot yet, though it would be. Cloudreach was falling further behind them. Maybe while they were at Essa’s cottage, he could take Caleb down to the water. He’d never been swimming, though by the Mabari, he did love his baths. “Whoever plays strip D&D anyway?”

“You’re just mad you hadn’t thought of it,” Varric retorted as they all filed out the door to Fin’s truck. “And that you lost your shirt.”

“My favorite tshirt.” It had been a year and Garrett was still mourning. Well, the anger stage of mourning.

“And your dice.” Varric reminded him.

“My favorite dice,” Garrett agreed. She hadn’t taken those, but she’d ruined them. After rolling a shameful excess of natural twenties for the woman, the custom pewter set he’d had since middle school was suddenly useless to him.

“Wait. Essa is the one who took your Millennium Falcon shirt?” Bethany rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I’m so confused.”

Caleb pranced over the truck, ears high and tail wagging. He was far more excited about the prospect of the day’s adventure than Garrett was.

“Well, you see,” Varric began what was no doubt going to be a heavily embellished and thoroughly entertaining—at Garrett’s expense—tale.

“I’ll tell you all about it on the way,” Garrett said hastily, scooping Caleb up and into the backseat of the king cab. “Varric?”

“Yes, Hawke?” There was undisguised merriment in his deep voice.

“Shut up.”

~*~

One year earlier,  _the Hanged Man:_

 _Garrett had barely made it back to Kirkwall for Wintersend, but he was looking forward to a long weekend surrounded by family and friends, some whom he hadn’t seen in the four years since he graduated university. He was trying to cram as many visits as he could into the long weekend and Varric was all too willing to help. They had a rented out the back room at_ the Hanged Man _for an all-night game of_  Dungeons and Dragons _and fuck no he didn’t feel the least bit like he should have outgrown the game no matter what Anders used to say. He had dragged out his old character sheet and his trusty dice, bought a six pack of Mountain Dew and a bag of organic artisanal Applewood something or other beef jerky—what he was an adult, right?—and clunked downstairs wearing a pair of jeans and a tshirt he’d had since high school._

_“This,” he announced, indulging in uncommonly voiced sentiment as he set his loot down in front of the largest and comfiest chair amid the eclectic mix around the table. “Is the best welcome home a guy could ask for.”_

_Varric peered over the dungeon master’s screen, wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end his nose. He looked more geriatric than distinguished; Garrett would make sure to tell him so later._

_“You still playing that fire mage of yours?”_

_“I am.”_

_Varric had spun a campaign that lasted the entire four years of college and Garrett was more than a little attached to Carog, the half-dragon fire mage with a heart of gold and fists like a hammer._

_Varric nodded. “Since Bethany’s working, I called in another healer. Going to have to nerf everyone down to level 18 though so she can play.”_

_“18?” Bela huffed. “There goes my stroke of luck.”_

_“I’m sure you’ll find a way around it, Rivaini.” Varric was unperturbed at Bela’s loss of her favorite special ability. “Essa hasn’t played in years, but she said she had a level 18 paladin, healer specced.”_

_Garrett didn’t much mind. The whole point was to play, drink, eat junk food, and talk shit all while pretending he could fly and breathe fire and wear his own scales like armor._

_Varric was notoriously loose with the rules._

_“So who all is coming?”_

_“Just the three of us, Daisy, Broody, and Essa.”_

_He spoke of with her familiar fondness, but Garrett couldn’t remember ever hearing her name mentioned before.  “No nickname for her.”_

_Varric laughed. “Mirabelle.”_

_“Mirabelle?” Garrett frowned. “You nicknamed her after a gun.”_

_“Well, she is a pistol,” Merrill said, giggling as she came in the door. Garrett pulled her into a hug and she wrapped her narrow arms around him like a vice. “Oh, I’ve missed you.”_

_“Missed you too.” He dropped a kiss to her hair. “Bela taking care of you?”_

_Another giggle that was answer enough._

_It wasn’t long before Fenris dragged in. Garrett went to the bar for drinks, put in an order for wings and sliders. They were just settling in around the table debating the better way to consume powdered cheese covered snacks—as a puff or a doodle—when Varric’s Mirabelle walked in._

_“You’re forgetting balls,” she said, stopping to lean in the open doorway. Her humor was such a flat line that Garrett might have missed it if Merrill hadn’t started snickering and choked on her fruity cocktail. “One or two in your mouth without making much of a mess.” She paused for breath, waggling the dark arches of her brows. “Anything more and you have to keep stopping to wash your hands or face.”_

_There was laughter around the table and mischief in her gaze as she grinned a greeting to everyone. Everyone but him. Her grey eyes narrowed on the DM screen in front of Varric._

_“I thought we were playing Wicked Grace?”_

_Varric frowned. “D &D.”_

_Essa shrugged. “You said either or, I kinda thought the ‘or’ was a joke.” She stared down at her chest. “I dressed in layers,” she added miserably, plucking at the open flannel shirt she was wearing over a soft blue cami._

_Everyone laughed, a joke Garrett knew he was missing._

_“She runs hot,” Merrill explained, leaning on his arm as Essa stepped into the room. “But she’s terrible at Wicked Grace so she dresses in layers.”_

_“Only way she’s not naked first,” Bela chuckled turning her face up for a kiss as Essa passed. “Not that any of us mind.”_

_No, Garrett supposed they wouldn’t. Essa was curvy and built like a brawler. Even through her baggy outer ayers he could see well-defined muscles shifting at shoulder and bicep. He was definitely not staring at her ass._

_“Hey, Varric,” Bela lifted one finely arched brow. “Any way we can add strip rules to this game?”_

_Varric laughed. “Last time we tried that, you lost.”_

_Garrett still wasn’t sure exactly how those alternate rules had worked; though he was bummed he’d missed that session._

_“I’d play for that.” Essa blew Bela a kiss across the table. She reached in her pocket for her phone. “My old character sheet is on here somewhere, but I’ma need dice.”_

_“There’s an app for that.”_

_“Sacrilege!” Essa and Fenris gasped together. Gamers were a superstitious lot when it came to dice and the ritual of routine._

_“We can all share,” Merrill offered, sitting up and away from Garrett; she nudged him with her elbow. “You can use mine.” A gift there, and Garrett knew it. He was too distracted by the honor to see where she was headed. “And maybe Essa can use yours?”_

_Garrett didn’t exactly believe in luck--at least not sober--and it was clear that his friends adored the woman. Even Fenris, who barely did more than roll dice and grunt damage while they played, had moved his chair over so she could sit beside him. The two sat, shoulder to shoulder, broody glare matched for broody glare._

_“Yeah, sure.”_

_The middle of the night would forever be a blur to Garrett. The game started as always, just outside of a dusty tavern with a half-drunken party--both in game and out--and protracted bickering in front of the Chantry board. They took quests, fought demons and hurlocks ,and closed a rift, managed something that approximated teamwork until—_

_“Saving throw, Hawke.”_

_There were groans all around, shouts of encouragement from Merrill. Garrett took a deep breath…_

_...and rolled a one._

_“Lose the jeans,” Varric called cheerfully. “And roll damage.”_

_He was too distracted to think about that last. Garrett was now down to boxers and his tshirt, which put him as the second most decently clothed person at the table, though he had the fewest articles left on. At some point—maybe after the last round of drinks before Corff cut them off—they’d started playing for keeps on the clothes and modesty hadn’t been nearly as important as hanging onto favorite articles of clothing. Merrill was down to her tunic sweater, knee socks, and ankle boots, Bela to a pair of jeans, socks, and a bra she’d promised to kill over. Fenris and Varric each had on boots and trousers and belts but no shirts._

_“Roll, Hawke.” Essa sneered the order, tapped the table in front of her impatiently.  She was wearing nothing but a lace bra and panty set and that beat up flannel shirt, and Maker’s breath, if she had uttered a single kind word to him all evening, Garrett might have been filing that image away for later use. “When you’re through with whatever light show you’re raining down on the valley, the rest of us have bad guys to kill.”_

_He didn’t know who was about to take the brunt of the blocked spell, but when he rolled max damage, Garrett winced. Varric’s dice struck the table in kind._

_“Smoke takes—“ Varric began._

_“What?” Essa screeched._

_Smoke was her paladin’s mount, and the beast was already wounded from running in and saving Bela. Garrett might have felt worse if he hadn’t watched his own murder take shape in her eyes._

_“Oh, no.” Merrill hid behind her hands. “Oh, Garrett, you’re in—“_

_“You son of a—“ Essa grabbed Garrett’s D20 from the table before her, squinting down at her phone. “I’ve got a few hit points left. Roll initiative, Hawke.”_

_“I’m not fighting you!” Had she lost her mind? There was no fighting within the party!_

_“Then you can just stand there and take it up—“_

_"Varric!" Through a bourbon and ginger haze, Garrett flashed Varric a helpless look._

_“Roll, Hawke.” Essa snarled. “Thedas will be a lot better off when there’s one less chaotic neutral edgelord half-dragon running around.”_

_“Edgelord?!” Well now he was insulted. “You haven't played in ten years, Trevelyan, you wouldn’t know Lawful Good if it bit you on the ass and your paladin isn’t shit without that same ride-by attack you’ve been doing all night. Whatcha gonna do without your pony?”_

_Essa’s eyes flashed. She slammed one fist down on the table, rattling a dozen empty bottles. “I want your shirt, Hawke.”_

_Merrill gasped._

_“And when I kill your stupid mage, he stays dead!”_

_“Fine!” He picked up Merrill’s dice, considering. “I want the lace. Both of them.”_

_Ever since her cami came off she and Bela had been talking about nothing but those two scraps of cobalt lace she called underwear. He wouldn’t have thought she was one of those girls, but damn if she didn’t seem vain about them._

_“Fine.”_

~*~

“And I lost,” Garrett said as they turned onto a long curving dirt lane. “She took my shirt, killed Carog--” in a devastating series of criticals “--and my dice never recovered from her grubby hands.”

“More like they never forgave you for taking them from her hands,” Varric snickered. “What? The woman has good hands?”

“That something you know?” Garrett growled.

“Ass.” Varric rolled his eyes.

“That was last year?” Bethany was turned around in her seat, eyes wide, one hand over her mouth failing to muffled her chortles of glee.

Garrett nodded.

“And you’re still mad?” she mumbled through her fingers.

He was less certain on that front. It was pretty funny once he was sober enough to look back on it. Maybe she still had his shirt. Maybe he could wheedle it back out of her.

“Not really,” Garrett muttered. “But it wasn’t exactly an auspicious first meeting.”

“No,” Bethany crowed, eyes nearly sealed closed with levity. “But that wasn’t the first time you met.”

“What?” Garrett was pretty sure he would remember having met Essa “the murdering thief” Trevelyan. “Of course it was.”

“No.” Fin slowed the truck as he turned off of the highway.

Garrett had been warned that the cottage was a good commute out of town, but he hadn’t realized just how far. He rolled down the window, took a deep breath of clean salt air, held onto Caleb so the pup wouldn’t fall as they crawled up the bumpy dirt lane. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“You met two years before that,” Bethany said, ruining whatever resolution he might have been finding in the sweet sting of a summer breeze. There were tears streaming down her face as she recounted the story and by the end Garrett was doing his level best to sink into the seat of Fin’s truck and disappear forever.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. No. it couldn’t be. It wasn’t fair. Surely the Maker wasn’t that cruel?

“Essa?!?!?” Varric’s laughter boomed deep and soul shaking. He clapped Garrett on the back, the force of his guffaws rocking them both in their seats.  “ _Essa_ is Miss Fine Whines!?”

Void fucking take him. He had dreamed about that tight yellow tshirt for months. And Void take Varric too, because he knew it.

“Fuck me.” Garrett sagged against the door of the truck.  “Just…throw me to sea.”

They pulled up beside a neat white cottage and were greeted by a pair mabari even before they’d gotten completely out of the truck. A familiar female flopped over on her back, pink belly scarred and tail thumping. Garrett could do nothing but surrender.

“Hello, Greta.”

Caleb barked happily.

 


	2. Buckaroos Jammies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last thing Essa expects is to have her new roommate home on a saturday night. She doesn’t expect Garrett to join in her plans of making homemade chili and watching westerns in bad pajamas with the dogs, and she absolutely doesn’t expect to have so much in common with him. Or so much fun.

  _**Justinian** _

Essa loved and hated summer. Summer meant many things at Seaside, among them miserable heat and a skyrocketing water bill, her magic pulsing hot and ragged at the edges, held tight behind an ever-fraying temper. She knew she was a demon to live with—especially come the end of August when the air grew still and heavy, and even breathing was a chore—but that was a few months off yet. Summer was only soft upon them, bright sunny days filled with honeysuckle and blackberry vines climbing the cliffs rocky cliffs.  Justinian was her favorite month, filled with low violet clouds rumbling rose and gold with lightning over the Waking Sea and ginger lemonade sipped from mason jars slick with condensation.  The cottage garden was just beginning to bear fruits and vegetables, and for the next three months her kitchen would be a slow simmer of sweet berry jams and tomato-based sauces bright and fiery with peppers.   

“Need some help?” Garrett called from the kitchen.

She wasn’t yet in the door, arms filled to fumbling with tomatoes, peppers, and garlic. They had been living together for nearly two weeks and despite all expectations, Mr. Cloudreach was proving…well…mostly tolerable. Essa fought back a lip-curling grumble. At this point she wasn’t sure if she disliked him, or if she disliked how much she  _didn’t_  dislike him. She had been as surprised to learn that he hadn’t recognized her the second time they met as she had been to find he didn’t view their first meeting in the same negative light that she had.

It wasn’t hot enough yet for Essa to be any more surly than usual and he was surprisingly quiet for an ego that she’d have thought needed constant feeding. She wasn’t yet certain what his work hours were, or what he did for that matter, but he had promised to come and go quietly and so far he had. When he was home, he was surprisingly unobtrusive. Each day had been slightly better than the last as they grew accustomed to one another’s company and worked out schedules for the dogs. Petey and Greta got along well with Caleb and, as far as puppies went, Caleb was an affable little chap, quick to learn the doggy door.

“Nah, I’ve got it.”

Garrett was sitting at the table she and Fin had made the summer before. Reclaimed barnwood sanded down smooth as glass and sealed with furniture wax. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about how comfortable he looked there, slouched in a tall ladder back chair, long legs sprawling wide, one hand toying idly with an empty water bottle. He was wearing a pair of faded red board shorts with a ripped concert tee and his dark hair had dried in salt spikes from a morning swim she had  _almost_  joined at his invitation.  

But no, she had determined not to get too friendly with the new roommate and that was  _before_  she had found out that roommate was going to be Hawke.

“Really,” Essa added when he started to get up anyway.  

She pulled the screen door open with bare toes, slipped inside before it slapped closed behind her. The three mabari were lying sprawled across the cool linoleum at his feet. Greta had one paw pressed to the toes of his left foot. The bitch hadn’t stopped staring at him with round moon eyes all blighted week.

“Did you enjoy your swim?” Essa wasn’t much for small talk, but she was trying now that they seemed to have gotten most of the grunts and sniping out of the way. The first day had been a little like introducing a new pair of alpha mabari to one another, lots of puffed chests, bared teeth, and wary eyes. She blamed Varric, Bethany, and Fin for the worst of it though. They had been only too happy to tease her and Garrett over incidents that had happened years ago.

“We did.” He nudged Caleb with his other foot. The pup was rolled up on his back, legs flopping to the sides. Every other breath he whimpered high and sharp and sudden, no doubt still chasing gulls on the shore in his little mabari dreams. “I still can’t believe how much he likes the water.”

Essa set the tomatoes on the end of the counter just inside the door. The kitchen was pleasantly cool with all the windows open and the ceiling fan going, but the sun was still climbing. She’d find herself down on the beach before the day was done. “Petey surprised me too. Greta mostly just likes to wade where it’s shallow but—“

“But that monster dives!” Garrett interrupted in disbelief. “Scared me nearly to death the first time! What is he doing?”

Essa laughed. “He’s chasing rays." She arranged peppers on the counter, red to orange to yellow to green, then pulled garlic bulbs from the pockets of her overalls, any minute expecting a comment on the ratty, cutoff denim.  “So far he hasn’t gotten one, though Greta did teach him how to tip horseshoe crabs back over when they get stuck on their backs. So watch for that.”

“I will.”

She turned back from the counter in time to catch his grin and had to fight her reflexive scowl.  Garrett was an annoyingly attractive man, twice so because he knew it. He had a smile that Essa didn’t doubt moved mountains, a bright flash of even teeth except for that one chipped canine that only emphasized his roguish charm. The dimples in his cheeks weren’t quite hidden by a dark scruffy beard.

Essa didn’t like charming men. She had made a point to tell him so and she was considering telling him again. He really did look too comfortable in her kitchen, like every mabari she’d ever brought home. Not that she was going to make the mistake of comparing Garrett Hawke to lost puppies. What the fuck was wrong with her?

“Tell me again why you don’t have air conditioning?”

She latched hold of the distraction gratefully.

“Something about the artificial cold tears up my lungs.” Essa moved along the counter, pulling down a cutting board from the shelf above and setting it over the top of her farmhouse sink.  “I was sick every summer until I was four and my pediatrician and allergist figured it out. No ac for me.”

There was, of course, more to it, but Essa had barely moved past feeling outright antagonism toward him. She wasn’t about to spill any of her deepest darkests.

“Your family must’ve loved that,” Garrett mused. “Ostwick summers are worse than Kirkwall’s.”

She heard him move, but only because she had learned to listen for him. By the Mabari, he was quiet for such a big man. She had threatened to tie a bell around his neck the first two days. His answering grin had nearly earned him a punch. Knowing her luck, it wouldn’t have done any good anyway. The bell, not the punch.

“Eh,” Essa shrugged.  If he thought it was hot now, it was only going to get worse. End of summer she’d be lying on the tile in the bathroom wearing nothing but a tanktop and underwear and threatening the life of anything that asked her to move. She should probably put a tip jar on the somewhere. “They dumped me off in the stable on Fin and his dad. Can’t say I got the bad end of that.”

She had been loved, for all that she had also been abandoned. Her brother and sister had not been so lucky. Cari was still sorting through a lifetime of love, hate, obligation, and need for approval. Essa knew who her family was. If Rance Larkson had been able to adopt her, he would have. He hadn’t been perfect, but he had been her father as much as Fin’s.

“What can I help with?”

Garrett was hovering at her right elbow, dark eyes concerned. Essa shook her head, cast the memories away. It was too lovely a morning to worry about a past so far behind her.

“I’ve got it,” she said. “Really it’s fine.”

He wasn’t standing too close, in fact, she noticed he had a habit of standing a step farther away than propriety necessarily dictated, careful not to crowd. She wondered if that was just for her sake, couldn’t quite decide if she appreciated the consideration.

“And yeah,” he added, as if he thought he needed to. “Larkson’s alright.”

Rave enough reviews for the man shacking up with his sister. Garrett’s attitudes weren’t as antiquated as they came across, but he was protective Bethany. Essa certainly couldn’t throw that particular stone.

“Fin’s good people.” A warning there, but quiet enough not to disturb the lazy Saturday or the cautious camaraderie they were building. She wasn’t certain they’d ever be friends, but maybe they could be friendly seeing as how they were probably going to be related through Fin and Beth forever and that they were going to be living together for the foreseeable future. “Not like us.”

“You don’t think we’re good people.” Garrett held out one hand, unperturbed. “I can chop vegetables if you’ll just tell me how you want them.”

“No, I don’t think we’re good people.”  Essa frowned. He wanted to help her cook? Cause that wasn’t weird. That was weird, right? “I know I’m not for certain. I suppose the verdict is still out on you.”

She softened what some might take as an insult with a twitch of her lips, could only hope he took that as a smile. She was rusty at intimate social interactions, and sharing a home was intimate no matter what the rest of the world seemed to think. Her college roommate was one of her best friends and she had known they were forever inside of the first three weeks. Luckily for her, Garrett didn’t seem to be a forever sort of guy.

“Fair enough.” He might well have read her mind, but Essa shoved that thought away. He wiggled his fingers at her impatiently. “It’s my night to cook anyway,” Garrett reminded her when she failed to form a fast enough refusal.

It was, but— “It’s Saturday?” Essa managed after a moment. “I didn’t think you’d be here.”

They took turns cooking or they fended for themselves. That had always been the house rule, and honestly one that wasn’t structured enough to have worked for anyone but her and Fin, but Garrett seemed to be trying. He had cooked three times this week, nothing fancy—one night had been build your own subs—but he always had fruits and vegetables along with large portions of protein.

Essa watched her evening alone evaporate like so much flotsam. She grudgingly offered him a green bell pepper.

“Don’t you have a hot date or something?”

His reputation preceded him, or what she imagined of his reputation given Bethany’s aversion to having her brother too cozy with her friends. Essa had expected to be alone most weekends.

“No hot dates for me, Trevelyan.” Garrett took the pepper without touching her fingers, began rinsing it when she jerked her chin at the faucet. “But if you want the place to yourself just say so. I’ll make myself scarce.”

The kindness more than she would have offered. It was also ridiculous. “No.” He was paying the same rent she was. “Dibs on the tv though.”

Garrett chuckled. “No hot date for you either then.”

Essa almost snorted. Her last “hot date” had been an unmitigated disaster with lifelong consequences, not that they were getting into that. She made a face instead.

“I guess we should have discussed that too.”

She passed him another pepper, moved the clean one to the opposite end of her board and began cutting it into neat quarter inch strips.

“Dating?” he asked, laughter in his tone. His breath was cool on her shoulder as he leaned over her, swapping clean pepper for dirty. “I’ve been here a week and you’re asking me out?”

“In your dreams, Hawke.” Literally, if Varric was to be believed about that old yellow tshirt of Sera’s.

Garrett glared at her and Essa grinned.

“I thought we’d agreed to never mention ‘the times that came before’.” He dropped his voice low and ominous and Essa snickered.

“We agreed that Varric, Fin, and Bethany were to never mention ‘the times that came before’.” She elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “But I’m never going to let you live that down, Mr. Cloudreach.”

“Alright, Miss Fine Whines,” he countered. “I should warn you, I give as good as I get.”

“I just said I wasn’t asking you out, Hawke. You can stop with the hard sell.”

Garrett tipped his head back, laughter booming broad and warm through the kitchen. Greta jerked her head up at the sudden sound, eyes softening almost immediately when she realized it was him.

Traitor.

“It’s to your credit,” Essa continued in a careful deadpan, “that you’re a giver, Hawke. I wouldn’t have thought so at first impression.”

He flicked water at her from beneath the running faucet, a heavy spray that caught her right in the face. Essa screeched. Petey lifted his head slowly, brown eyes narrowed. At least she could count on him.

“We’re fine,” she soothed, grateful when Garrett turned back to show the dog his empty hands. That was another thing she hadn’t expected, just how considerate he was of the mabari’s special needs.

“Sorry, bud. Just a bit of play.”

Petey understood play well enough. He huffed a sigh as he dropped back to nap.

“Thanks for that,” Essa said gruffly.

“I’ll throw water on that white t shirt of yours any time you like.” Garrett smiled, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. Flirtation was a habit of his, she had noticed, and so was humor as deflection. “And I think we can agree at this point that maybe our first impressions weren’t very accurate.”

“True enough. Maybe.” Essa frowned, turned the subject back to the safety of teasing. “Besides you can’t see anything past my overall bib and you know it.”

“Maybe I have a thing for that farmgirl look.” He winked at her. Actually winked at her. The ass. “You don’t know.”

“And I don’t want to know.”

Essa was the opposite. Joking around was one thing, but actual flirting took effort, and when it came to anything important, she was direct to a fault. Which is what she had to be now. She took a slow breath, better to get this out while she was thinking about it, and more importantly while they were both mostly relaxed and non confrontational. Part of her kept waiting for the inevitable disagreements.

“Okay, look.” Essa chewed on her bottom lip, slowing her words so that they didn’t tumble out and sound accusing. “I can’t tell you what to do with your room or your time.” She felt like an ass even suggesting otherwise. “But I...I don’t bring people back to the cottage.”

The cottage was sacred in its way.Fin and Bethany had been dating for six months before he ever brought her out. Essa didn’t bring anyone home who wasn’t important to her. That was why she had been so pissed at the idea of having a roommate in the first place. In a way she hadn’t minded the idea of Garrett, even when she had been certain she couldn’t stand him, because he was family through Beth.

“I won’t—“

“No, that’s silly,” she said, before he could say something he’d later regret. “Of course you can bring people home. It’s your home too. Your room. But…” She sighed. “I’d appreciate you giving me some warning if you do. I’ve been out here mostly on my own for a while now. Fin and Beth don’t count.”

She could feel him watching her, his gaze was warm on her face and too damn discerning. Essa began dicing the strips of pepper with more force than strictly warranted.

“I can do that,” Garrett said, voice soft enough that she thought—for no reason she could guess at—that maybe he understood. And wasn’t that a nightmare? “Besides, Kirkwall is full of warm beds if you only need one for the night.”

“Really?” He kept surprising her. That couldn’t be good.

“Really.”

“Well, if you’re willing to make that concession,” Essa mused. “I’ll watch Caleb for you.”

“Deal.”

He spoke quickly, as if afraid she might change her mind. She couldn’t really blame him. The man doted on the puppy, took him everywhere, which was fine while Caleb was small enough to smuggle in a backpack, but there was going to come a time when the man and his mabari wouldn’t fit on the sleek black sport bike parked out in the garage.

“Now,” he cleared his throat and Essa didn’t mind one bit the change of subject she sensed coming.  “What are we cooking? And what has you watching tv? I thought you didn’t like the noise.”

“I don’t usually.” Essa handed him a pair of medium hot peppers.  “But there’s a western marathon on one of the old movie channels tonight and every year I make chili and cornbread and wear ridiculous pajamas while yelling at the tv.”

Garrett’s grin was wide and friendly and  _harmless_ , Essa told herself;  he bumped her hip with his.

“You really gonna let me watch that?” he asked, eyes bright with mischief. “How ridiculous are we talking? And is this a wardrobe requirement?”

Essa shook her head, lips hitching up despite her best efforts to the contrary. “As ridiculous as you have,” she issued the challenge with a waggle of her brows. “Bonus points if there are cowboys or hats or spurs involved.”

“ _Spurs_?” Garrett put one hand to his chest as if she’d shocked him. “Bethany didn’t tell me you were such a freak, Trevelyan.”

“I’m a freak holding a knife,” she warned him with a mock glower.

“Kinky.” He pursed his lips. “Never tried knife play…but I might be willing—“

“Shut up, Hawke.” Essa kicked him in the foot, laughter crowding her eyes until she had to close him lest he see. Knifeplay. Really. “You’d be a fool to let anyone near your tender bits with a blade,” she muttered, rushing on before he could comment. “We need to get this all in the crockpot if it’s going to be ready in time for supper.”

~*~

“You’re trolling me right?”

Garrett still thought he deserved a medal or something for not commenting on Essa’s overalls earlier—her too damn short, too damn big, cutoff denimfuckingoveralls. After he found out Miss Fine Whines was Essa, he had been determined to put all thoughts of her and that yellow tshirt out of his head, but those overalls this morning had nearly killed him. For starters, they were too damned short. Maker’s breath, he had to stop thinking about how damn short they were. She had every right to be comfortable bumming around her own home! Still, one wrong—right…impossibly  _right_  move—and he could damn near see the curves of her ass, and she had made so many of those moves in the kitchen that he felt like a lecher. Worse, he suspected the woman didn’t have a single tan line to speak of, and he sure as the void didn’t need to be thinking about that. Bethany was going to kill him.

Essa was sun-bronzed and freckled, her brown hair streaked near blonde in places, a cascade of natural beach waves he knew salons got paid good money to mimic. The white tshirt she’d been wearing under the things was thin enough the he could see every ripple of her shoulder muscles as she worked, strong hands sure on knife and vegetables as they filled the ancient slowcooker she kept by the stove. She was good with a knife, real professional chef type moves, and those biceps…Maker, preserve him, he needed to stop thinking about her biceps. He was ninety percent sure she wasn’t wearing those overalls  “ironically” or whatever the kids were saying these days. No, she seemed to genuinely like the things. He had a bet with himself that they’d belonged to Fin’s father, but he didn’t know when that would pay out or if he’d live to see it.

Because this…. _this_ …was just too damn much.  

“What?”

She was standing in the open archway between the den and the short hall, arms spread wide above her head, fists pressed to the white, semi-gloss trim. Her stance might have been a challenge, Void take him, it might have been an invitation,  if she were any other woman and not wearing the most ginormous and ridiculous pair of cotton pajamas he had ever seen.

“I said you’re trolling me right?” Garrett couldn’t look away. The background was bubblegum pink, a color he couldn’t imagine Essa wearing. She wasn’t exactly vain, but he couldn’t see her willingly putting on a color that suited her, and everyone else in Thedas, so poorly…at least not in public.  ”Are those…?”

“Buckaroos?” She grinned, dancing a quick rotation in the doorway, before turning back, chin lifted proudly. “Yes, they are.”

Cowboys, calves, lassos, horses, barns…Andraste’s sweet mabari, the brightly rendered print was every bit of hideous as she’d bragged.

Essa folded her arms beneath her breasts—not that the buckaroo covered tent she was wearing offered him much of a view—and lifted her brows. “You don’t look especially ridiculous,” she accused, eyes narrowed.

He didn’t. He had a cowboy hat from a Halloween party he’d gone to in college and a tacky plaid shirt in summer candy colors that didn’t quite rival her pajamas. His navy basketball shorts were more for comfort than style.

“Sorry, Trevelyan, I must’ve left my spurs in Lothering.”

She pursed her lips thoughtfully.  “It’s not a bad hat.”

It was a terrible hat. One of those cheap crushable straw hats favored by country singers who’d probably never ridden a horse for more than a carefully chaperoned lope at a  beach resort. Figured she’d like it.

“I might consider a trade,” Garrett offered.

Essa glanced down at her pajamas. “ _You_ want the pink buckaroo jammies?”

He couldn’t really blame her for the skepticism, but if they were doing this whole evening right, Garrett wanted all in. Already the coffee table was crowded with junk food, the homemade chili and cornbread the only semi-healthy dishes insight.There was a galvanized steel bucket in the center, filled with ice and cheap beer. He hadn’t been prepared for how much they had in common, or how much she seemed to enjoy the simplest, quiet pleasures of home. He had been rambling for so long now he hadn’t realized such an evening would still call to him, but here, he was sinking into a uncommon sort of peace.

When he wasn’t thinking inappropriate thoughts about his curmudgeony roommate anyway.

Garrett grinned. “Top or bottom,” he offered, a harmless test, more curiosity than anything. They were at home; it would be easy enough for them to each find a top or bottom to go with whichever wretched half they got. “Your call.”

“Fine. I usually strip halfway through the evening anyway.” Her hands moved to the buttons on her shirt and Garrett stifled a groan. He had been hoping for the bottoms. He could have at least worn a tshirt with those. “Too damn hot-natured,” she continued.

“Strip, huh?” Garrett held up one hand and she stopped, scowling. “Slow down, woman.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said with a sigh of exasperation. “I have a tank top on under this.”

But she was grinning. She had a sharp wit and she liked to banter. Garrett still hadn’t gotten used to any of those. Essa Trevelyan was as quick to grin as she was to scowl. He liked knowing he was responsible for those sudden turns of her lips, and wasn’t that the stupidest thing he had done lately? First bit of peace he’d found in years and he was going to wreck it lusting after his roommate. Worse, his future sister-in-law or whatever, if things were going where they all knew things were going with Bethany and Fin.

“I’m sure you do, but music please.” Garrett grabbed the tv remote, turned to a burlesque music station. “Can’t miss an opportunity for me to tell Varric Miss Fine Whines stripped for me.”

Her glare was a thing of beauty, flint grey sparking blue on the edges. Music filled the small den, low and smoky, a heavy beat bouncing off the cool, rainwet evening.  He was teasing her, but he was also feeling for boundaries, had been all week. Garrett liked to flirt and play, Maker knew he liked laughing—life wasn’t worth living without laughter—and if they were going to live together he needed to know how much he could tease. How much he should. He didn’t doubt for one moment that Essa would push back if he overstepped.

“No shows for free,” she informed him staunchly. “If you’re ogling, I’m ogling.”

He was all for her ogling, and not just because it made him feel less like a lecher.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Garrett had scooted forward on the couch and reached for the buttons on his shirt when she added, “Though I’d prefer cold hard cash, maybe a sandwich…”

“You wound me!” And much to his chagrin, he couldn’t tell if she was serious.

“You’ve enough adoring fans out there, Mr. Cloudreach.” She flashed him a smile that was surprisingly easy, lips quirking up to lift freckled cheeks. She had a crooked nose and faint, horizontal scar from where she’d broken it once, a long time ago. That scar paled when her cheeks flushed. “You don’t need another.”

“Fair-weather fans,” he grumbled. “They don’t much count.”

He should have kept that to himself, he realized, as Essa tipped her head to the side, a very mabari-like affection as she studied him. “Is this the part where you tell me your beauty is a curse?”

“Ha!” Garrett clapped his hands together softly so as not to disturb Petey, who was snoozing in the adjacent armchair. The brown and white mabari was recovering from something, a life he hadn’t yet dared ask about, though the dog’s scars told enough of the tale. “You said I was pretty.”

Essa rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder she wasn’t dizzy. “You know you’re pretty,” she huffed. “I’m trying very hard not to hold it against you.”

“You don’t like pretty people?” Garrett frowned. “You’re pretty people.”

He hoped the understatement sounded objective. Essa didn’t strike him as the kind to appreciate the compliment.

“I’m not.” She held up one hand before he could protest. “Nor am I fishing for objections to the contrary. I happen to like how I look.”

They were of one accord there, but he kept that to himself.

“Now, give me that hat.” She reached for the top button of her shirt, shimmied a little along with the music as she slipped it free. “Your turn.”

They traded button for button, each one a slow taunt, a giggling dare, and only revealing the soft white cotton of their undershirts. One bawdy song flowed into the next and by the time they finished, they were both laughing helplessly, cheeks high and bright, too full to hold back their mirth. Garrett couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed like that, and wasn’t that a damn shame?

“Andraste’s grace,” he gasped, stretching back on the couch to catch his breath. His hat pitched forward, covering his eyes and for a moment he stared through the irregular pattern, watching eyelet shadows move across the white ceiling.  “We’re idiots.”

Essa’s shirt knocked his hat aside and hit him squarely in the face. “You might be.”

The air around him warmed and Garrett cracked one eye open to find her a step from the couch and staring down at him. “I just scored this sweet hat for nothing I wasn’t going to do anyway.” She lifted the hat from his face, smashed it down on her head with a smug smile. Garrett bit his lip to keep from telling her how damn cute she looked. “That makes me a genius.”

“Alright, genius.”

He sat up, shrugging out of his plaid and into the oversized pink buckaroo shirt. It fit him a little too perfectly; Essa was quick to tell him so as she dropped down beside him on the couch.

“Ooh,” she said, watching him roll up his sleeves. “Look at you with that proper preppy sleeve roll.”

“And I suppose you just turn the cuffs up like a barbarian,” Garrett sighed.

“Maybe.” She grinned, reached across the scant space between them, fingers hovering at his collar but not touching him.  “Now you have to pop that.”

She was waiting for permission to touch him. Garrett thought it might be a carryover from her rehab work, but he noticed that she rarely initiated touch and when she did she always waited for permission to be given whether verbal or nonverbal. He dropped his chin, realized he was just as bad as her dogs when she smiled, fingers brushing lightly over old cotton.

“And you need the proper eighties prep hair.” She wiggled her fingers, another request that he granted by leaning toward her.

Essa was perched on the couch beside him, legs folded beneath her so that she could rise up on her knees to reach him without drawing too close.

“You need that side part with the wave.” She was smirking as she combed her fingers slowly through his hair. “At least you’ve enough hair for it.”

“You saying I need a haircut?” Garrett asked, trying desperately to ignore the gruff rumble of his voice and hoping she would too.

“Nah.” Her blunt nails scraped his scalp and Garrett bit back a sigh of pleasure. “Sorry.”

She pulled away quickly, catching her balance in her torso, abs flexing beneath thin white cotton.

“No harm.” He made a show of fussing with his sleeves and collar. “Ridiculous enough for you now?”

Essa nodded. “Oh, yeah. I might be persuaded to preserve these memories for posterity.” She reached back toward the coffee table for the phone he rarely saw her use. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all, you’ll have to send them to me.”

She turned her back to him as she held the phone out before them, almost but not quite leaning back against his chest. The open edges of his buckaroo shirt brushed against the curve of her spine, and Garrett thought one good breath would probably bring them flush against one another. She smelled good. Too good. Saltwater and hot peppers and sunshine and—

“Hey!” Garrett scowled at their faces in the camera capture. “You can’t see your buckaroos.”

“That costs afucklot more than a straw hat,” Essa quipped.

Garrett snorted. “Give me that.”

He took the phone from her and Essa drew one leg up in front of her chest, wrapping her arm around it so that her pajama pants were clearly in the shot.

“Better?”

“Yes.” He slipped one arm around her back, close but not touching. Maker, she was warm! “Lean in here.”

She nestled against his side stiffly at first. Garrett waited a moment to see if she would pull away. When she relaxed against him, he let his arm rest lightly across her shoulderblades.

“Ready?”

Her grin was broad, grey eyes bright as a mirror’s smile. “Ready.”

Garrett smiled, pressed the button on the screen, caught a too perfect smile from both of them. “Now, say ‘John Wayne!’”

“I will not!” He caught that outrage too, the indignant scowl that quickly followed. “You’re a Wayne fan? That man was a bigot!”

“Was he?” Garrett shrugged. “I didn’t know.”

“Yes!” Essa near shouted, she leaned in closer to him, swatting his hand away from her phone as she took it back from him. She launched into a stunning lecture about the mindful consumption of media and the Duke’s flaws, a lecture Garrett almost missed because she hadn’t yet moved from beneath his arm. Essa talked with her hands, and every wild waving gesture rocked her more snugly into his arms.  “…a racist! One of those paternalistic asshats!” Her elbow jabbed him in the ribs. “Are you listening?”

“Sorry, Trevelyan.” He pushed her gently away from him before he got any more comfortable with having her where she was. He was looking for a lot of things out here at Seaside, but she wasn’t one of them.  “I’m trying to decide if that’s reason enough to give up a lifetime loveaffair.”

“If that’s—!” She gaped at him, clearly scandalized. “Damn right it is!”

Garrett laughed. “Fine, fine.” He reached for a beer. “You want?”

Essa nodded and he twisted the cap off, passing over the brown glass bottle. Her fingers brushed his—not that she seemed to notice—but damn it all, Garrett did.

“What about Eastwood?” he asked, opening his own beer and taking a long drink. “You gonna take him from me too?”

“Eastwood’s alright,” Essa said, settling back into the opposite corner of the overstuffed couch. “He’s no Tom Selleck, but he’s alright.”

“Really?” He might could forgive her for ruining the Duke for him. “Quiggly—“

“Is the sixth best western ever!” Essa exclaimed.

“Sixth?” Garrett took another sip, set his beer on the edge of the coffee table. “Alright, top ten.”

The tv autotuned then, changing to the movie channel. A familiar score filled the den, but neither of them were paying attention. Essa pursed her lips thoughtfully.

“ _Lonesome Dove, Man from Snowy River, Fistful of Dollars, the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, the Magnificent Seven_ ,” she paused for a breath, sighing and swooning back against the couch cushions. “Yul Brynner is so damn dreamy, though I really did enjoy the remake.”

“That’s five,” Garrett told her.

“ _Quiggly Down Under, 3:10 to Yuma, Young Guns_ —“

“No fucking way on that one. That wasn’t a western, Trevelyan. That was hairbands and teen magazine cover boys and—“

“That was the second one!” she crowed. “And number nine, just so you know.”

She took a swig of beer and Garrett tried not to watch her throat as she swallowed. Her tanktop was just a men’s ribbed undershirt and had an infuriatingly modest neckline, though it was snug enough to make up for it. He needed to get a grip before he proved true every accusation Beth had thrown at him.

“ _And_ ,” Essa continued before he could add further comment. “You’d best leave Bon Jovi alone or we’re going to fight.”

She held up her fists. Even sprawled on the couch her form was good. Garrett wondered if she’d trained.

“I wouldn’t dream of disparaging Mr. Jovi,” Garrett assured her.

“Mr.  _Bon_  Jovi,” Essa corrected, snickering.  “Fin and I must’ve watched those movies a million times. We were going to move west, roam the wilds of the Marches on our ponies.” Her voice fell soft and distant as dreams before she shook her head, smile rebounding. “We got matching  _Pals_  tattoos when we turned eighteen.”

Of course they had. Garrett laughed. “One more.”

“Hmmm….” She tapped the mouth of her bottle against her lower lip as she considered. “ _Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid._ ”

“Redford and Newman,” Garrett said. “Nice.”

“Damn nice.” Essa nudged his thigh with bare toes. “Your turn.”

She had one arm up on the back of the couch, the other stretched toward the coffee table snagging corn chips from a plastic bowl. They were getting comfortable around each other. Maybe too comfortable in such a short week. Garrett sat back against the other end of the couch, back to the arm, knees bent and legs stretched across half the middle cushion. The remote was between them, and about four inches of the quilt she kept across the couch for the dogs. She seemed farther away than she had a moment ago, and not just because they weren’t touching. Why the fuck did he care that they weren’t touching?

Maker, Beth was going to kill him.

“Hawke?”

“ _Magnificent Seven_ ,” he said quickly. “The original.” When she smiled, he smiled back. “I’m with you on Brynner.”

“Good man,” she said around a mouthful of chips. She held up one hand, thumb up counting. “That’s one.”

“All five of Sergio Leone’s spaghetti westerns.” He tsked at her for only counting two. “ _Westworld_.”

“Robots?” Essa huffed at him. “Next you’ll be counting Firefly and Serenity as westerns.”

“Bon. Jovi,” Garrett retorted.

“Fiiiine,” Essa conceded gracelessly. She held up seven fingers. “Three more. Better make them count.”

“ _Quiggly_ ,” he repeated, earning a nod. “ _The Sacketts_.”

“Yes! Louis L'Amour. A man after my own heart.”

 _Me or L’Amour?_ But Garrett squashed that question before it fully formed. He was losing his damn mind that he’d even think to ask it in jest.

Essa dropped her fingers, held up one thumb again. “One left.”

“ _Shane._ ”

“AH! I forgot about  _Shane_!” Essa flailed back dramatically, knuckles pressed to her forehead in an exaggerated swoon. “Alan Ladd, Jean Arthur...” she sighed. “You’ve surprisingly good taste for a man who claims to love John Wayne. You didn’t name a single one of his.”

“ _True Grit_  gets honorable mention. And not the remake.”

“Ha!”

Petey whined at the sudden exclamation and she reached for the mabari’s chair, ran soothing fingers over his lifted head.

“Sorry, pal. You okay?”

The dog pressed up into her hand.

“Do we need to be quieter?” Garrett asked.

“No, it’s good for him to learn that raised human voices don’t always mean pain.” She patted him again, then settled back into her seat. “Thanks though.” She swallowed hard. “I appreciate how good you are with them.”

“Must love dogs, right?”

Her frown was immediate. “I didn’t post that ad.”

“Fin may have given me a copy…”

“That jerk!”

“It’s a good ad,” Garrett defended. “I may or may not keep it taped to my dresser mirror.”

“You don’t.”

“Gotta stay on my toes,” he said as Caleb and Greta wandered in from outside The puppy loped over to the couch ears flopping. He hopped up with his front feet on Garrett’s leg, leaving a pair of dewy pawprints. “Can’t lose puppy paradise for this guy.”

He scooped Caleb up, dropped a kiss to his head before setting him on the cushion between him and Essa. Caleb, smart boy that he was, immediately snuggled closer to her side.

“So what are we watching?”  

Greta flopped down on the floor beside Garrett and he reached down to scratch her side.

“ _The Outlaw Josey Wales_ ,” Essa said, turning the tv up so that they could hear it over the buzz of cicadas from the garden. Caleb curled up against her feet and she toyed idly with his ears as the puppy fell asleep. “Good thing you’re an Eastwood fan. Get the light?”

It was all too damn easy. Garrett hit the light switch over his head and they dropped into comfortable silence that was only interrupted by the yelling she had warned him about. Though, Essa didn’t so much yell at the tv as randomly grumble and gripe and lust over firearms. A woman after his own heart indeed.

“ _Pale Rider’s_  up next,” Essa said, dashing to the bathroom. “We need more beer.”

He grabbed another six-pack from the fridge, and they ate bowls of firecracker chili between films, peppers so hot Garrett had tears in his eyes. He could only watch in slack-jawed awe as she shoveled hers down without pause, adding freshly diced habaneros to the top.

“Your tongue,” Garrett observed as the tv droned on through a commercial break, Petey’s snores rising and falling in an unceasing counterpoint, “must be heat resistant.”

Essa choked on her current mouthful. “Something like that,” she wheezed, grabbing for her beer. “Fuck, you’ve killed me.”

She leaned up, coughing and hacking toward the center of the couch. Garrett moved closer, helpfully thumping her on the back until she snarled at him.

“Ass.”

“I am that.”

He took her empty bottle from her, replaced it with a fresh one. She squeezed his fingers on the pass, a thank you that didn’t have to mean a damn thing more than that, but suddenly had him reeling.

“You, okay?” Essa asked as he moved back to his end of the couch. Her gaze was steady, and he remembered how she had watched Caleb, Greta, and Petey when they first introduced them, eyes shrewd and assessing, reading liftetimes in every scar, every subtle movement.

“Fine,” Garrett lied, and he knew she read that too. Of course she had. He might not have had it as bad as Greta or Petey, but he was walking just as wounded.

“Hey.” She lifted her chin.

“Hey, yourself.” He couldn’t quite meet her eyes.

Caleb stretched between him and Essa, paws pressed to both their legs, a connection Garrett couldn’t afford.

“Whatever it is,” she said softly, and he knew a script when he heard one, knew with utter certainty that she’d said the same words to every mabari she’d ever rescued, “it can’t get you here.”

Greta lifted her head from the floor, lolling back against the couch to stare up at him.

“It doesn’t work that way for people, Essa.” And he thought maybe it was the first time he’d called her by her first name.

“Of course it does,” she replied evenly. “It just always takes us longer to realize it.”

 


	3. About Last Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a month and a half since Garrett moved in and both he and Essa are increasingly disconcerted at how much they have in common, at how much they feel at home together in that little cottage with their dogs. Garrett should have known it wouldn’t last, and waking up with her in his arms should have been his first warning. Idyllic lives by the sea aren’t for guys like him. The past always sneaks up, becomes immediate and real and present in the blink of an eye.

  ** _Solace_ **

Essa drifted awake slowly, mind groggy and still clinging desperately to sleep. She had slept soundly, more soundly than usual which was saying something. Very little ever disturbed her out at Seaside. She was absurdly comfortable, if a bit too warm, but that was to be expected given how late she was abed and that for whatever reason she was still wearing clothes. She frowned, reached up to scrub one hand across her face.  The summer morning had drifted far too close to noon and the languishing salt breeze that ruffled the curtains over the couch barely stirred the white eyelet.

What was she doing in the den?

“Good morning.”

The greeting was a sleep-roughened rumble, a cool puff past her sweat damp neck. Garrett’s chin was on her shoulder, beard a soft scratch through the well-worn cotton of a t shirt she’d rightfully won from him a year ago. Essa tensed, going from drowsy to wide awake in the adrenaline sting of a single panicked heartbeat.

“Easy.” His arms were snug around her, one at her waist, fingers clenched lightly around the hem of her shirt,  the other tucked beneath the corner of toss pillow between her head and the crook of her arm, and—Andraste’s  _fucking_ knickers, were his fingers tangled with hers?  “It’s just me.”

As if it could be anyone else. As if the fact that it was him made things better and not so much worse. Essa took a slow breath, the night before coming back to her in a rush.

“Good morning.” Her voice was a dry croak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “How are you?”

She wasn’t ready to face him, but she turned in his arms anyway, as much to call her own bluff as to see what his gaze held now that the sun was high. Last night it had been bruised, broken in ways she had never expected to see, as the night crowded thick and close and ominous.

“Better,” Garrett said, once she settled.

Their left and right hands were still tangled together in her hair, and Essa had her left between them, fingers resting over the persistence of his heart. Garrett’s other hand was light upon her hip. The smile he gave her a ghost of itself and weak on the edges, still too damn fragile. He couldn’t quite meet her eyes, though he deflected with something that might have passed for flirtation had she not gotten to know him so well in the past month. If he was actually staring at her breasts, he damn sure wasn’t enjoying the view, and Essa found that unlikely.  No, his thoughts were still elsewhere.

“I…uh…”

He caught his bottom lip in his teeth, tongue sweeping out over a bit of scab not twelve hours old. There were more on his knuckles, some better and some worse. Essa tried not to think about how easy it would be to heal those small injuries, or how much she wanted to sooth the greater wounds he carried unseen.  She knew better, knew that the world might claim a tolerance for magic now that mage numbers had dwindled to one in every few hundred thousand people, but she had learned she was better off keeping that part of herself back. Garrett Hawke might be the son of a mage and a brother besides, but he was also a mage hunter, no matter what fancy name the templars were calling it nowadays. Dress it up anyway he wanted, the man chased bounties, and she might not have a price on her head anymore, but she knew better than to get this close to the enemy. She wondered if his sister knew exactly what he did.

“Thank you,” Garrett murmured, thumb sweeping along the curve of her waist, an absent touch she could no more blame him for than she could blame herself for the hitch in her breath. “For last night.”

She needed to say something, even if it was just as simple as “you’re welcome.” Essa tried and failed to unstick her tongue from her teeth.

“Es…”

He was finally looking at her, and she wished he wouldn’t, wished he wouldn’t whisper the first syllable of her name as if it were a breath he couldn’t quite catch. She usually had an answer to his flirtations. After so many weeks of living together, she knew he was full of play, that he liked a bit of banter, sarcasm and snark and laughter bright. He’d argue for the sake of watching her stomp her foot, and he’d ogle her for much the same reason. In addition to his own enjoyment anyway. But now he was serious. Now, there was something dangerous in his dark eyes, some kind of wondering, and Essa felt trapped between him and herself.  

His fingers were cool against her hand, legs fitting too easily with hers.  She brushed the top of his feet with her toes. He was ticklish there, something she’d learned one night when they were tucked into their customary corners of the couch watching old, problematic movies. She watched laughter streak warm and bronze across the umber of his gaze, but it wasn’t enough to take them back to where they’d been before last night.

“I didn’t think you’d be here when I woke up.”

She hadn’t planned on it, had, in fact, every intention of leaving him on the couch with the dogs guarding him and spending the night restless in her own bed, but that was before he started dreaming.

“I…” Essa sighed. “I guess I fell asleep.”

It wasn’t quite a lie, damn sure wasn’t the whole truth. She could feel her cheeks coloring, knew he was likely to misinterpret her blush and decided it was better than the alternative. The sound he had made as he wrapped his arms around her in his sleep had nearly broken her. Essa had cared for too many busted hearts in her work—man, mabari, didn’t matter—she wouldn’t have left him alone last night unless he’d woken up and asked her to.

“I should get up now, though.” She didn’t move, at least not fast enough or far enough, and his answering grin was immediate, a full rally as he pushed aside the last remnants of the night.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.”

He squeezed her fingers as he let go of her hand, gently untangling from her hair. When his thumb brushed her bottom lip, Essa startled, so hard and fast that she’d have fallen off the couch if he hadn’t caught her with his other arm snug around her waist.

“I’m sorry.” Garrett frowned, swagger gone as suddenly as it had arrived, no small amount of confusion on his face and…hurt? Maker’s breath, she couldn’t wound him too.

His knuckles brushed her chin, seeking, promising, and Essa shook her head.

“Don’t be sorry.” She rubbed soothingly at his chest before she stopped with a scowl. “I just…” She swallowed hard and—dammit,  _dammit._ What was wrong with her?—she brushed her lips across the scabs on his knuckles, a wordless apology, comfort she knew she couldn’t give and shouldn’t want to. “This is a bad idea.”

Because it wasn’t just comfort, was it?

“All of my ideas are bad.”

He let go of her then, and Essa pitched forward, body falling flush against his. She hadn’t realized that he had been keeping a modicum of distance between them, just enough that they weren’t nestled together intimately. They were certainly intimate now.

And when had that happened?

“I don’t remember the last time I slept through the night,” he told her, catching a lock of her hair between his thumb and forefinger, tugging it away from her eyes.  “I should thank you for that.”

Essa chuckled. “And you think this is the way to thank me?”

She didn’t know what “this” was, but she was pretty sure she was going to kiss him, and after last night she knew she would have a hard time regretting it. At least until the whole thing went up in flames around her.

“Maybe.” He leaned forward slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away. Essa lifted her chin, caught his tremulous exhale against her lips.

“I—“

“ _What_. did I. tell you??”

Bethany’s indignation was the crack of a whip, and so unexpected that Essa had reached for her knife before she and Garrett even began scrambling upright. He caught her wrist before she threw, brows winging up, expression inscrutable.

Essa turned more fully to face the door. “What the fuck, Beth? Don’t you knock?”

Bethany was standing in the den’s open archway, arms folded across her chest, outrage and betrayal a storm flashing in her blue eyes.

“We did knock,” she said, tapping one foot loudly against the hardwood floor, blue gingham espadrille making the sound clumsy and only adding to her ire. “And before that we called. All morning. You were supposed to meet us at the carnival...” She lifted one arm, thrust her wrist toward them as if her watch were a weapon. “…three hours ago.”

Shit. Essa looked around for her phone, knowing full well she’d put it on do not disturb when they finally started drifting off last night.

“Bethany…”

“I don’t want to hear it,” she snapped, turning her fury to Garrett. Essa puffed up immediately, broadening her shoulders and putting herself between them. The defensive posture was automatic, one honed from too many years among mabari, and Bethany didn’t miss it. “Essa,  _really_?”

Garrett’s hands were warm at her back, fingers still wrapped around her wrist holding her knife snugly in her throwing hand. He pried the blade free with gentle fingers, slipped it back into the sheath at the small of her back. Did his touch linger or was that wishful thinking?

Fuck. She was in so much trouble.

“I…” Essa didn’t want to talk about it. Not with either of them. “You’re lucky it’s just me,” she grumbled instead. “Greta barely lets  _me_  yell at him.” She clambered to her feet. “It’s not what you think,” she said stomping toward Bethany and the door. “And certainly not as bad.”

“It looked worse,” Bethany retorted as Essa pushed by her, crossing the short hall to her bedroom.

“Well it isn’t,” she insisted.

~*~

It damn well was.

It was worse than worse, not that Garrett was going to tell Bethany that. He endured her lecture in silence as he threw on a pair of jeans and plain black tshirt. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t heard it before.  _Stop flirting with my friends, stop breaking their hearts. You always do this, Garrett. You think of no one but yourself, Garrett._ And they both knew that wasn’t true, just as they both knew it didn’t do any good for him to point that out, or the fact that she blamed him for more than his due.

“You have a good thing here,” she said finally, waiting on the back steps as he shoved his feet into a pair of battered leather flip flops. “You know that don’t you?”

It was the closest thing to a home he’d had since Lothering. Bethany had made a place for herself in Kirkwall, but not Garrett. He had too many of their father’s old contacts, too much of his restlessness. Nearly three years in Denerim hadn’t yielded anything that looked like roots.

Garrett locked the back door. “I do.”

Caleb was frolicking in the fenced in yard with Greta and Petey. He was safe, even when Garrett wasn’t with him. The rent was cheap; the location absolutely couldn’t be beat, not even with the county’s current tourist trap set up in the derelict village just down the cliffs from the cottage. The carnival had been running all week, tents set up to the east of the boardwalk, sideshows and game booths and food vendors. It hadn’t drawn the crowds they’d been hoping for, which pleased Essa. There was another bid on the abandoned vacation spot, something educational or medical…he couldn’t remember, but he had seen her old professor’s name on a proposal draft Essa had left on the kitchen table. Whatever they were going for, it’d be quieter.

“Are you listening to me at all?” Bethany demanded as they made their way down a switchback walking trail. Garrett had one hand beneath her elbow, because Bethany Hawke wouldn’t be caught dead in flats even on a Saturday at the shore.

“I’m trying not to.”

He could hardly hear the roar of the sea for the cotton candy notes of recorded calliope music. Seaside’s boardwalk had long since rotted away, all that remained was mostly falling down clapboard buildings, broken windows, and sagging porches. Those had been taped off with bright yellow caution tape and neon orange barricades. Insurance worries taking precedence over ghost town ambience, Garrett supposed, kicking a bit of sea tumbled stone toward a vacant general store. The carnival was spread out over the an old sports complex, soccer fields and basketball fields interspersed with tennis courts, nothing left but faded paint on cracked concrete. He had to admit the whole thing was a little creepy, more freak show horror than carnival whimsy. Except for buying bad carnival food on their way home, he and Essa had been avoiding the place all week.

“Garrett.” Bethany’s hand was on his arm, all anger gone from her tone. She pulled him to a stop beside the house of mirrors and he stared listlessly at his distorted reflection. “What happened last night? Commander Rutherford called—“

“Rutherford needs to keep his fucking mouth shut,” Garrett interrupted sharply. He glowered down at his sister. “What did he call you for?”

“He was worried—“

“What did you tell him?” There wasn’t anything that she could have told him that was any worse than what he already had, but it galled him to know the man was checking up on him.

“That you’d already texted me and you were on your way home.”

Garrett sighed. “Fine.” He pulled off his sunglasses, rubbed hard at the pressure building between his eyes. “It’s done, just so you know.”

“You…” Bethany blinked at him, mouth gaping. “You told them where to find him?”

He’d been keeping secrets for so long now; he had only just realized they were rotting inside of him.

“I told them where he was last.” He’d also made sure Anders had gotten word, and that he’d already moved on, but what’s done was done, and finally.

“Garrett….”

“It was a good deal, Beth. My record’s clear. Your record’s clear.” And whatever connection he had left to the man who’d mage-bombed Kirkwall’s Chantry was gone. Whatever they had been, it was over. Long over.

“You should have come to our place,” she whispered, wrapping both arms around one of his and snuggling in close. “You shouldn’t have been alone.”

He laughed ruefully. “I wasn’t, or have you forgotten about being angry at me?”

“Garrett—“

He shook his head, cutting her off. There had been more and worse on his run last night. He didn’t work with the templars often, usually when they needed his name or face, some tangible connection to Malcolm Hawke’s old apostate contacts. Only ever when they were the good guys. Not that anyone ever wanted to call them that.

He shoved his sunglasses back down over his eyes. “I just wanted to come home, Beth.”

She had caught his hands in hers. “And these?” Her gaze swept up to his busted face. “This was—”

“Something else.”

“I could…” He could feel the cool hum of her magic as she called to the Fade. Garrett shook his head again. “Essa tended them.”

He could still feel the touch of her fingers, featherlight and steady as ages while she worked antibiotic salve into his wounds. She had twisted her hair into a haste knot at the back of her neck and little flyaways kept teasing her cheekbones. He should have kissed her then.

“Essa…?” Bethany’s brows winged up. “Since when is she ‘Essa’ and not ‘Trevelyan’?”

Since Justinian, since last night.

_“Caleb! Greta! Petey! Get your wiggling butts back here right this—!”_

_Garrett was standing in the garden when Essa came sprinting around the corner of the house,  following the dogs as they charged the front gate. It was his fault for startling them. He usually called or texted to let her know when he was on the way and the mabari could tell time better than any watch. They were always waiting for him at the gate, tongues lolling and grins wide. He hadn’t given them any warning this time and they were a force, barks louder than the last hour of carnival music behind him, steadier than the sea to his right._

_“Garrett?” The pack drew up short when they saw him, the dogs going from alarm to welcome in a single breath. Essa was the opposite. She hadn’t sounded worried until her gaze fell upon him. “Hey, you okay?”_

_He was now. Not that he could tell her that. Instead he made some half-ass comment about her running around in a too small bikini. It wasn’t, of course, at least not quite,  but the strung together red triangles were a far cry from the sporty two piece she had ordered at the beginning of Justinian. She only wore it when she thought no one was going to be around. Except for him. She’d decided he was safe at some point, a compliment he tried not to take as an insult. He whistled low and she scowled at him, folded her arms beneath her breasts and scowled again when he made a show of looking._

_“Fine now,” he said, the truth not quite shaking from him. “Damn, Trevelyan. You know you can’t run in that, right?”_

_She glanced down, righted one side of her top, lips pursed. “I should charge you for that.”_

_Essa was half feral. It was one of his favorite things about her. She was casual with her nudity, practical to a damn fault. Just a body, she said, as if she were oblivious to the potential of hers. He was torn between frustration and guilt that he couldn’t stop thinking about—_

_“Garrett?”_

_She was closer now. Dark hair a tangle around her shoulders, bottom lip caught between her teeth. Garrett glanced up too fast, pounding head reeling, balance following. She caught him before he could right himself, muscles shifting in her arms as she put one broad shoulder beneath his arm and held him easily. Her skin was warm, sun trapped in all that bronze skin. If she had a single tan line it was smaller than that damn bikini._

_“What happened?”_

_The dogs gathered around them, Greta pressing close on the side opposite Essa, Petey hovering just behind him; Caleb whined at their feet._

_“I’m alright.” A lie, but the best he could do at the moment. Garrett tried to pull away from Essa’s  steadying touch until she growled at him._

_“You’re not,” she snapped, leaning into him with one hip so that she could stoop down and gather Caleb up. “You’ve been into worse than your usual.”_

_She held on tightly to them both, one arm snug around Garrett’s waist, the puppy clutched to her breasts. He envied the damn dog then, and not for any reason that he could live with. Lust was one thing, but this was something so much worse._

_“I was with the templars tonight.”_

_He wasn’t always. Some of the jobs he took went directly against templar interests, though he rarely lost sleep over those._

_“They finally find that guy they think is a blood mage?” Essa asked._

_The templars weren’t what they’d once been. There weren’t enough mages left in the world to require them in force. Now they were as much interstate law enforcement as anything else, counter terrorism, and yes, mage hunters. There were just two on Kirkwall’s most wanted list, one was an unconfirmed blood mage, the other a healer turned domestic terrorist, a man Garrett had once loved._

_“We found him.”_

_He had too much experience with mages not to be good at what he did. Sometimes he turned them over; sometimes he helped them hide. He had nearly beaten this one to death before Cullen and Aveline pulled him off the guy._

_“He uh….” Garrett shook his head, drew them to a stop as they reached the front steps. “Can we just stand out here a minute?”_

_He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to remember._

_“Of course.” Essa stepped back up on the bottom step, reversing their height difference. His eyes were on level with her lips; they were stained as red as her suit._

_“You’ve been in the strawberries.” He was thinking about kissing her, wondered if there was any way to tell her he wasn’t asking anything more of her than a moment of desperately needed grace._

_Essa smiled. “I made shortcake and jam and don’t—“ She wrinkled her nose at him before he could speak. “Don’t you say one thing about me being domestic or I will add to your injuries.”_

_She might at that, Garrett thought, just not the ones she meant.  The moons were high above them, silver disk and gold, both mirror bright and shining lovingly on her face, but there were shadows too. They gathered around wide grey eyes that saw too blighted much._

_“Tell me what happened.”_

_It wasn’t a request, but an order for all that it was softly uttered. Garrett started to refuse, started to deflect. It would be too easy to fall back on flirting, to bring a frown to her face and earn himself a thump on the arm._

_“It was bad.” Suddenly the words were pouring out of him. “He was using dogs, street kids. We recovered a single mabari, a kid he hadn’t gotten to use yet. Aveline took the girl home to Donnic until social services can to her Monday.” He had a feeling the child was home to stay, but he supposed they’d see. “The mabari… ”_

_Garrett shook his head, trying to cast the memories away, knowing it was useless. He’d remember the feeble, hopeful wag of that little tail for the rest of his life. The determined hope in weak, cloudy eyes._

_“I…”_

_Essa made a sound of distress and the next thing Garrett knew, she had both arms around his neck, pulling him close to her and Caleb. He took that last step toward her, a step that really wasn’t there to begin with. His feet bumped the front of the bottom step and just like that he was flush against her, Caleb pressed between their hearts all warm wriggling puppy and unabashed joy._

_“I’m sorry,” Essa whispered, lips grazing his temple, his forehead, even as Caleb licked his face. Her fingers were hot against the back of his neck. Was she…? Was she holding him to her? It was hard to tell with Caleb so happy and wagging, oblivious to everything but love. “I’m so sorry, Garrett.”_

_He knew she’d seen worse. Void take him, he’d seen worse in the before pictures of the dogs she rehabbed, but he’d never seen anything this bad in person._

_“She’s a little thing,” he said, gruffly, wrapping his arms around her waist and hanging on, leaning on her strength and praying she didn’t mind._

_Essa could be skittish about touch, and he was overly affectionate with it. In the seven weeks they had been living together, Garrett had tried to be respectful of boundaries he couldn’t quite follow. She was playful, quick to push or tease or blow kisses. She was demonstrative with Fin, and even Bethany, and she certainly wallowed with the dogs like any good half-mabari would. She was fine with brief, casual touches, but nothing enclosing. Nothing that might suggest she was trapped._

_“Doc Surana says she’s going to be fine,” he continued, unable to meet her eyes. “She just needs a lot of TLC. I’d…” He took a slow breath. “That is…if you take her on, I’d like to help?”_

_“Of course. We can go by together first thing Monday.”_

_And that was Essa wasn’t it? She didn’t know anything about the dog and she was already opening her heart and home to her._

_“Thank you.”_

_He couldn’t bring himself to let go of her but Caleb—too filled with energy for anything more—was trying to get down. Essa shifted in Garrett’s arms, dropped the puppy to the porch behind her. He scampered down the steps, pounced on Petey and earned a gentle nip for his troubles._

_“We should get those busted knuckles tended to,” Essa said, straightening. Her elbows were on his shoulders, breasts a too-perfect weight high on his chest. Garrett’s next inhale only brought them closer together._

_He needed to let her go. “Yeah.”_

_But her hair smelled of sunshine, salt, and mabari, and he wanted to taste the lingering of strawberries and sugar on her lips, wanted to stand just as they were forever, surrounded by home and pack, and a night filled with ocean breeze and fireflies._

_“Or we could stand here for a bit,” she whispered, gentle fingers guiding his head to her shoulder. The beat of her heart was as inexorable as the tide. “The rest will keep.”_

~*~

Essa could still smell Garrett’s soap on her skin, a faint woodsy scent, a hint of deep citrus, nothing too strong because "what was the point in that?" he liked to gripe with a grin. Despite his sister’s claims, he wasn’t one of those body spray bros and he smelled good enough on his own. She couldn’t disagree, even if he was an impossible ass. The man always smelled too damn perfect, fresh from the shower or coming off of a workout, covered in sunscreen or sunburnt and slathered in aloe.

By the mabari, she needed to stop thinking about him. She sure as the Blight needed to stop thinking about every time she’d had her hands on him in the past few weeks. Those casual moments had barely registered at the time, but now they were all she could think about. She had to get a hold of herself.

Bethany was pissed, Fin was “disappointed”—which they all knew was so much worse— and Garrett was…Okay, so she didn’t know what Garrett was. They were friends, she knew that much. They enjoyed one another’s company, had far more in common than Beth would probably want to know. They liked old westerns and MMA, could lose an entire evening eating chips and homemade salsa and marathoning  _Ferelden Grey Wardens_ , a ridiculous sports entertainment program that pitted athletes against a timeclock and an absolutely insane obstacle course. The last few weeks especially, they’d  spent more evenings together than apart, and when he was working they were constantly texting, inane chatter about everything and nothing. They’d had an ongoing debate for a month now about what would in a fight, a dragon or a kaiju.

But Essa still knew better.  

A bit of heartbreak in his eyes shouldn’t have been enough to undo all her good sense, and it very nearly had.

“You know—“ Fin’s sigh pierced the haze of Essa’s thoughts. She would have thanked him for the distraction, but she knew he was still going on about him and Bethany finding her and Garrett on the couch together and that was hardly helping her put the entire thing from her mind. “—it’s not any fun berating you if you’re not going to at least pretend to listen.”

Essa rolled her eyes. “You haven’t said anything I haven’t already heard from Bethany. You want my attention, get some new material.”

She finished her lemonade with a loud slurp, threw the empty cup in a trash barrel as they passed. It was three o’clock and too fucking hot. Already she was short-tempered and surly, looking to pick a fight with anybody who’d give her one.  She was wasting her time with Fin. He was immune to her summer rages, largely from spending his life exempt from them.

“We were up late,” Essa repeated for the fourth time in half as many hours. The afternoon sun was damn near oppressive. Her hat wasn’t nearly broad enough. She just wanted to go home, maybe throw together a batch of strawberry ice cream, or lie on the cool kitchen floor with the dogs and a spray bottle. Definitely not think about Garrett fucking Hawke and how misplaced that verb was, and fuck, she’d made Bethany a promise, hadn’t she? “We fell asleep on the couch together. For Andraste’s sake, Fin! Did you and Bethany not notice we were both fully fucking clothed?”

She had never felt more naked than she had the night before. She’d changed out of that Makerforsaken bikini the first chance she got, throwing on his old tshirt as much to remind him as herself of where they’d been and where they couldn’t go. There were too many reasons why kissing Garrett was the worst idea in all of Thedas. Only one of them was Bethany.

Essa reached over and stole the last of Fin’s cotton candy. He swatted her with the paper cone, left a sticky mark across her knuckles.  A spatter of gunfire erupted behind them and Essa flinched. The shooting gallery was one of the oldest games at the carnival, this particular booth seemed determined to draw modern audiences with loud, manufactured sounds and bright flashing lights. The whole thing only added to the stress headache she couldn’t seem to shake.

“Essa—”

“TRY YOUR LUCK!!!” The gamer operator’s voice boomed out, a bellow so deep and loud that he didn’t need the speakers currently thumping with more bass than melody beside Essa’s head. She took two steps to the side, put Fin between her and the worst of the noise. “YOUNG MAN! WIN YOUR LADY A PRIZE!”

Fin shook his head; he already had a hand on Essa’s arm preparing to move them away. Then Essa spied the prizes.

“How much?” she asked, taking a step back toward the garish, flashing booth.

She could use the distraction, could certainly stand to let off a little steam. It wasn’t her punching bag or the shooting range, but it would do.

“You know these games are rigged,” Fin protested, as Essa passed over more money than any single one of the stuffed toys hanging above them were worth.

“Don’t care, Fin.” She picked up the air rifle placed before her, spun it in her hands a few times to get the weight, stared down the barrel to see how off her site was.

“Take your time, miss,” the game operator said, weathered face creasing with an affable smile as he pointed to rows of targets and explained the points. The largest—steel plates shaped like ATVs—were  of course closest, the smaller ones—circular targets no bigger than a coin—were higher up, cast in shadow and neon lights.

“We just don’t…”

“Don’t what, Fin?”  Essa lined up a shot on a medium target, fired mid-breath and watched to see where her pellet landed. A little left of where she wanted it. She could work with that.

The game operator whistled low, called out a value she didn’t quite catch over the crackle of speaker static.

“We don’t want you getting your heart—“

“Dear. Sweet. Mabari.”

Essa fired between words, knocked three of the smallest targets down. She had heard a louder whistle, a few cheers. Someone behind her yelled “nice shot!”

“My heart is fine. He’s my friend.” The venom in her tone was directed at herself. She trusted Fin to know that.

“Two shots left,” someone called. “Go for the whirlwind!”

There was a bonus whirly gig in the back right corner of the gallery. For a moment, Essa watched it spin.

“My ROOMMATE.”

She fired once, missed the twirling gizmo by enough that she hit one of the stationary targets dead center.  The game operator called the points, but there was a collective murmur of disappointment at the missed shot. Essa focused on the game booth, trying hard not to think about the crowd gathering behind them, or the sweat stinging her eyes.

“AND,” she ploughed on before Fin could say anything else, “a surprisingly good roommate. I’m not going to fuck that up for…”

For what? She’d never had a fling, though there were days when she really wished she was the type that could.

“I’m not going to fuck that up, Fin.” She took a slow breath, then another. Focused on the target and not the memory of Garrett’s arms around her, the touch of his lips to her shoulder. The sigh of homecoming against her neck as they stood in her front yard, surrounded by so much that she loved.

“Whirlwind. Whirlwind. Whirlwind.”

The crowd, it seemed, was getting restless. The game operator offered her a wan smile, held his hands up to quiet the spectators.

“Alright. Fine.”

She took a slow breath, lifted the small gun back to her shoulder. The shot was perfect, Fin’s exasperated grin just so as cheers erupted around them and lights flashed. The sound of fireworks burst from the speakers.

“Show off,” Fin muttered.

“I want the dragon,” she said, nodding to an impossibly large black and blue dragon before the game operator could ask.

“A dragon, really?”

She knew that she’d been made, but Void take her if she cared. Or so Essa told herself. “Shut up, Fin. He had a bad night last night.”

“I know,” Fin sighed.

He knew? Essa tipped her head to the side. There was something Fin wasn’t telling her. Something he wasn’t quite sure if he should or shouldn’t.

“Es—“

“There you two are!”

Essa looked up to see Bethany and Garrett cutting through the crowd. Bethany had a fistful of candy apples, and Garrett was holding a paper plate stacked with funnel cakes in one hand, a red and white rectangular paper bowl in other.

“Did you buy out every bit of bad food you could find?”  Fin laughed, dragging Essa across the crowded avenue. He and Bethany seemed determined to salvage the day, but Essa just wanted to go home.

“Had to get a little of everything,” Bethany said, with a note of not quite false cheer. “Come on, there are picnic tables this way.”

Essa took the funnel cakes from Garrett without asking, shoved the dragon under his arm without a word. He flashed her a grin, one she returned before she thought better of it, but the reprieve was short lived.

“I have some bottles of water in my bag,” Bethany chattered, setting an impossibly large straw carryall on the end of the table. She pulled out stack of napkins, dropped them on the table before passing out apples and water and—

“Maker’s breath, Bethany.” Essa watched in amazement as Bethany added a bag of grilled corn on the cob and a styrofoam container to the growing pile. “What all do you have in there?”

Bethany grinned. “ _EVERYTHING._ It’s the last night of the carnival,” she added.

“So you’re going to kill us?”

“I wanted to this morning,” Bethany admitted, breaking what Essa had begun to look at as an unspoken pact not to bring up the topic while she and Garrett were within earshot of one another. “But no, I just thought…” She shrugged helplessly, cast a worried glance at Fin that had Essa wanting to punch something. “I thought this might be nice.”

“It is nice,” Fin said, one hand brushing Bethany’s cheek before he turned back to the table, adding disposable forks and knives to the rest. “Come on, sit. Eat.”

Essa sat, but she didn’t eat. She drank a bottle of water and listened as Garrett and Bethany and Fin prattled on, discussing nothing of consequence and certainly nothing of harm. On a cooler day, and one that hadn’t started with her waking up in Garrett Hawke’s arms, she wouldn’t have been bothered. She would have eaten bad food, been grateful for her friends and the sun on her shoulders.

But not today.

Today her magic was a bleak simmering, waves radiating like heat above black asphalt. Today she was angry and confused, and she didn’t want to sit in the heat and eat bad food. She didn’t want her legs sticking together or sweat running down her back or to feel as if the sun itself was trapped beneath her skin and trying to burn its way out. She couldn’t remember a time she had been so unsettled and she didn’t want to endure Bethany and Fin’s worry, or the speculation in Garrett’s eyes. She wanted a gallon of ice water and maybe a swim. She wanted to hide in her cottage away from anyone she might hurt. Away from anyone who might hurt her.

“Can’t say I’m going to miss having the noise,” Garrett said, making smalltalk as easily as breathing as they spread their treats out on the plastic table. He sat down across from her, carefully settling his dragon beside him, a lips tugging up in a smile just as quickly gone. “But I think I’m going to miss the food.”

He bit into a deep fried something, chocolate oozing out of one end and dripping on his beard. His smile was one of pure glee. Essa scowled. She’d eaten her fair share of funnel cakes this week, and fried cheese curds too, but the smorgasbord of deep fried everything on the table between the four of them was an excess she couldn’t believe Bethany was sanctioning.

“Well, the rest of you won’t.” She leaned across the table to mash a napkin against Garrett’s face, touch rougher than usual, certainly nothing Bethany could find problematic. “It’ll be a wonder if your heart survives.”

Something moved in his dark eyes then. Something soft and dangerous. “A wonder,” he agreed, reaching up to take the napkin from her hand with light fingers.

Essa pulled back too quickly, glared down at the table rather than meet the trio of concerned and knowing gazes.

“You’re a doctor, Bethany.” Essa waved one hand at the food as if that explained her disconcertion.

Bethany grinned at her around a wedge of candy apple. “Doc Bethany says to eat an apple, drink lots of water, stay out of the sun.”

She was giving Essa an out—years of friendship and no few summers together meant that Bethany and Fin knew, probably better than she was, when she was reaching her limit—Essa was damn well going to take the offer.

“Is that an order?” Essa asked, grabbing another bottle of water and twisting off the cap.

“It is if you need it.”

Essa breathed a sigh of relief as she rose to her feet taking her exit while she could.

“You both heard her,” she said, nodding at Fin and Garrett.

“You’re leaving?” Garrett frowned.

“I’m sorry.” Essa mostly meant it. “It’s too hot for me, and I’m about ten minutes from being no fun for anyone.” She smiled ruefully. “I’ll take that apple, Beth.”

Bethany passed her a caramel apple, cashews chopped and sprinkled in the thick toffee. She would cut it into wedges, she decided. Freeze them, maybe have them for supper in cold bath.

“Are you sure?” Garrett asked.

He and Garrett both rose to their feet but Essa waved them both back.

“Very sure.” She had tried to warn him. Bethany had tried to warn them both. “Text me if you stick around for the fireworks this evening. Petey’s getting a lot better. I might walk the dogs down to the beach to watch. I can bribe you with beach blankets and slightly better for you junkfood?”

She blew Bethany a kiss, Garrett one too just to show that they were all on equal footing. He wasn’t special and Bethany didn’t need to be worried. She dropped a kiss to the top of Fin’s head.

“Let me know, alright?”

She was halfway home when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She stepped into the shade of a crumbling candy shop, stared down at the text from Fin.

_You have to tell him._

~*~

Essa was sitting on an old flowered quilt when Garrett found her out on the farthest point of the headland. She’d chosen the high ground for watching the fireworks, a greater distance than the beach and therefore quieter. He thought—hoped—that maybe they would be able to talk now that Bethany and Fin had bailed on them at the last minute, though he had yet to decide if he should be thankful or worried at his sister’s not-so-subtle retreat.

“You look infinitely more comfortable than the last time I saw you.”

She looked beautiful. Maybe not quite as beautiful as when he’d woken to find her in his arms that morning, all sleep rumpled glory in a pair of cotton shorts and the Millennium Falcon shirt she’d won from him last year. It was twice as faded now, which meant she wore it and often. He tried not to be absurdly pleased with the idea of her sleeping in his shirt and failed.

“I told you summer’s are rough.” She lifted a bottle of water to him in toast. The wide collar of her white eyelet dress slipped off one shoulder and for one certain moment, Garrett could think of nothing but putting his lips to that exposed curve and tasting the salt on her skin.

“You did.” Though she had never really told him why. He took his shoes off at the edge of the blanket before he joined her. “You left Greta and Caleb in the house?”

Her lips twisted in a small grimace. “Trying to minimize distractions,” she said, reaching to scratch Petey’s ear. The mabari was sprawled on the grass at Essa’s feet, his brown eyes already on the sky. There had already been a few errant fireworks, kids on the beach managing to fire off a few Tevene Candles before the watch got to them. “He’s fine, but…”

“But you’re not?”

He didn’t know enough about her, he realized. He knew she had trouble with the heat, knew her lungs couldn’t handle artificial cool. He knew that she liked to eat maple syrup on her bacon, and dip hot sauce drizzled fries in her chocolate milkshakes, and that she was by turns one of the most loving and most quarrelsome people he’d ever known, but beyond being raised by Fin’s father instead of in the big house with her wealthy Trevelyan family, Garrett didn’t know much.

“I don’t know,” Essa sighed.

She was leaning back on her hands facing the sea. Her hair was loose, the wind catching it and holding it back from her face. Garrett settled beside her in the same position, close but not touching. He could feel the heat of her body, wondered where he’d find himself once he was completely lost in her, wondered if she would even want him, knowing him as she did. He hadn’t let anyone so close in years, and they hadn’t known each other long, but when she looked at him, eyes wide and guileless, he thought maybe Essa knew him, really knew him.

“Look.” Garrett took a breath, held onto courage he wouldn’t have thought he needed. “About this morning…about last night.”

Her laughter was a sudden burst, and whatever she might have said was drowned out by an echoing barrage of fireworks. She stretched her toes toward Petey, curling them against the mabari’s side so that he would know she was there.

Not that any of them ever doubted.

“It’s fine,” Essa mouthed the words more than she said them, face lifted to a hail of silver white light as starbursts spread like great fiery snowflakes across the summer sky. There was another puff from the beach far below, then the world flashed blue and mysterious, fireworks flashing soft as rain, casting her face wondrous and strange. “I understand.”

Maybe she did, but Garrett didn’t think she understood everything. Not yet. He had only just begun working it out for himself.

“Es…”

She turned to look at him, gaze wholly unguarded and filled near to bursting with every feeling he had been running from all day. He had tried to convince himself it was a bad night, tried to tell Bethany that they were just friends, and sure, Essa was one of the most stunning women he’d ever seen, but that hardly had anything to do with anything.

“I think I’m falling for you.”

She was, except for that last bit, so not his type. Essa Trevelyan was no volatile mage with healing in her hands and blue fury in her heart. She was no bad boy, bad girl, a dash of daring in dark corners. She was stalwart, fierce as a mabari and twice as loyal.  She was home and haven, and Maker’s breath, he was pretty sure they were going to have the chemistry of a house fire, but—

“You are not.”

She looked so surprised that for a moment he wondered if he’d read her wrong. Garrett turned toward her, reached with questioning hands for the stubborn square of her jaw.

“I am.” He was safe with her, Garrett reminded himself, leaning forward to brush his lips across hers. She was sweet, apples and chocolate and dry white wine, a bit of salt from the sea. He pulled back to give her time, murmured soft against her cheek, “Tell me you are too.”

Essa’s eyes fluttered closed and then her arms were around his neck. She kissed him back hard and fast, lips a clinging tremble and desperately seeking, and Maker, yes, he thought as his heart began a hard, fast clip in his chest. He was so right about the chemistry.

“I can’t.” She shook her head, teeth catching on his bottom lip, tongue flickering out to soothe the sting.

And then she was standing three feet away from him, hands thrust behind her back as if she were afraid to reach for him.

“I’m sorry.” The fireworks overhead were a thunder of crimson now, as deep and damning as a templar’s uniform.. “I….I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Essa’s eyes were bright with tears. Garrett could hardly see past the glow, but he watched, world crumbling around him as those tears fell, faded, burned to nothing in cold blue magefire.

 


	4. Melodramatic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been two weeks since that whole mess on the cliffs. Two weeks of barely talking, two weeks of Essa and Garrett living together but missing each other. Two weeks since they picked up Pepper, a pocket-sized mabari (okay not quite that little) and perhaps the cutest life lesson Essa and Garrett could ever dream of. Mutual pining. A little angst, but life goes to the dogs and there is FLUFF finally.

 

_**August** _

Garrett sat on the front porch, staring west across a clear blue morning. The day was perfect, or it should have been. It was the first one he’d had off in two weeks, and he was kicked back sideways in a lazy swaying hammock, a cold beer in his hand, sad country songs drifting quiet from his phone. There was a porch mabari at his feet--Pepper was settling into her new home like a dream--and steady sea breeze. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been happier, or so colossally aware of what a disaster he was.

Because, of course, he had already wrecked this too. Now he was just waiting for the fallout.

He had never loved being anywhere quite the way he loved the sharing the cottage with Essa. Garrett had grown up on a farm, something larger and a blight of a lot more work than this, but ever since his family moved to Kirkwall, he had more or less thought of himself as an urbanite. He hated the corruption, but he liked the energy and the bustle, the heady thrum of so many lives always searching for something just out of reach. Kirkwall—the good and the bad of it—made him feel a little less lost in the world. No one had their shit together, no reason he had to.

Out here, everything was different. The rest of the world might not exist at all. So much quiet, so many moments when he couldn’t escape his own thoughts. There was a timeless quality to the small, neat cottage, clean, weathered lines, soft grey paint and bright natural light. He hadn’t expected to love the combination of farmhouse and understated beach décor, hadn’t expected it to feel like home so fast and so damn easy. He had thought once—if he was lucky—that he might have a studio apartment of his own one day, something crisp and modern, stainless steel and black leather, high enough up that he wouldn’t hear quite as much street noise, maybe close enough that he could walk to hightown to see his sister and her family on a Sunday morning. There had always been a dog in his vision, but there damn sure weren’t four, and there weren’t seashells on the kitchen table along with peppers and tomatoes from a summer garden.

There wasn’t an infuriating woman singing drinking songs in the shower every night.

After Anders, Garrett had wanted a bachelor’s life. He wasn’t exactly bitter—life was too fucking short for that—but he had healed on his own, found some sort of peace on his own, and he liked things that way. It was simple, uncluttered. A single toothbrush in the bathroom, take out containers stacked neatly in a fridge that played music and looked like it should be in a spy movie while being woefully mostly empty of all but beer. Here the refrigerator was at least fifty years old, pale blue paint maintained with care, that low hum the only electronic sound in the house louder than the fans, and he was lucky if there was room for a pair of six packs because Essa—the freak—would rather use the space for groceries. The woman would drink a warm beer without batting an eye if it meant there was room for Pepper’s special diet of brown rice and boneless skinless chicken breasts cooked with a bit of olive oil.

Garrett would too, come to that.  

Maker’s breath, he was in trouble. He hadn’t slept a full night since the last night of the carnival--not that he'd slept great before, but this was worse. So much worse. He had been running himself ragged trying to stay busy, trying to exhaust himself to the point that he didn’t dream about a pair of wide grey eyes bright with magelight and shining with tears. He had no one to blame but himself, of course, and just in case he forgot, he had a dozen texts from Bethany telling him exactly how badly he had fucked up. His fault there too, since he was the idiot who’d told her what happened. As far as he could tell, Essa hadn’t talked to anybody. Not even Fin.

Essa’s silence was the worst part of it all. No matter how perfect it was, the cottage wasn’t the same without her laughter.

Garrett’s phone buzzed on the table beside him and he sighed, wondered how long he could put off answering Bethany’s daily text before she called. It was too nice a day to waste bickering with his sister. The weather was unseasonably mild and as it was the middle of the week, even the distant highway was quiet, the trains the only occasional interruption to day soft with wind and sea.

The dogs were out wandering yard, well, all except for Pepper. Since they had brought the little mabari home from Doc Surana, she hadn’t much left Garrett’s side except for Essa’s, but Essa was confident she’d become more independent with time. She was still underweight—Essa assured him that she wouldn’t be skin and bones for long—and she tired easily, but she was, without fail, a happy, wriggling bundle and for now there was nothing that seemed to please her so much as lying on an old rag rug on the front porch. Garrett hadn’t done much right this summer, but he would do right by her.

“But you,” Garrett said, rocking forward so that he could scratch Pepper’s side with his toes. Her black coat was still dull, marked with scars in every shade of grey. It had taken some work on her part before Essa convinced him he wouldn’t hurt the little dog by rubbing, scratching, and patting with the same energy he gave the other three. “You are more than happy to spend the day doing nothing with me, aren’t you?”

Her dark eyes were filled with love, not a shadow of disappointment to be found. She picked her head up, tongue lolling so that she could lick the top of his foot, ears lifted expectantly as she waited for him to laugh. She loved to tickle and be tickled; it had surprised him how much play she still had in her. She was covered in scars—he didn’t want to think about all that her heart carried—but she still loved, fiercely and without reservation.

Caleb had abandoned him in favor of playing in the yard with Greta and Petey. Not that Garrett could really blame them. They had been suffering right along with him and Essa all summer, spending most of their days inside lying on the linoleum in the kitchen beneath the fan. Today was the first in a month pleasant enough for running around in the grass. Garrett was just as determined to enjoy it. He had flank steak marinating in the fridge for grilling later that night and a bucket of blackberries he had picked on the cliffs the evening before. There was homemade vanilla ice cream in a churn on the back porch.

And fuck, yes, he was hoping it would all soften Essa up enough to talk to him.

Since that night on the cliffs, he knew he had lost her. He had ruined whatever friendship they had been building and they had fallen back into something that resembled their early weeks as roommates, conversations mostly impersonal, tones either too cool or too curt. Mornings were bad, both of them grumbling from too little sleep. This morning had been the worst. It was first that they’d both had off since he told her—since he kissed her—since—

Andraste’s tits. Garrett pushed up from the hammock, paced toward the other end of the porch to glare toward the sea. If he couldn’t bring himself to think about it, there was no way he was going to be able to talk to her about it, and Maker knew they needed to.  Essa hadn’t said two words to him about the whole mess, but she still wouldn’t look him in the eye. Dammit, he missed her, as stupid as that was. She should have been on the porch with him enjoying the day, instead she had stormed out before he had managed to get the coffee brewing.

“If it’s cool enough for you to be bumming around in jeans,” she had snapped on her way out the back door, “then it’s cool enough for me to work in the barn.”

The sky had been shades of rose and grey behind her, her face obscured by too many shadows. She was back in those damned cutoff overalls of hers, long legs bare except for a pair of work boots she must have had half her life and Garrett couldn’t stop thinking about how she would feel in his arms, warm and solid. He wanted to taste the scowl on her lips, kiss her until it curved into something sweeter, darker, wanted to feel her hands grip tight on his arms, his back—

He had to stop fucking thinking about her. He damn well had to stop thinking about fucking her.

Garrett’s phone vibrated again and Pepper stared up at the table, curious but not startled. She had finally gotten a handle on technology, though she didn’t seem nearly as interested in it as Caleb. So far she hadn’t chewed any cords or cost him a new phone.  

“Alright, Beth,” Garrett sighed. “What is it today?”

He grabbed his phone, steeling himself for whatever fresh blight Bethany was sending him this morning. He had two texts waiting, but was surprised to find they were both from Essa. She had been out at the barn all morning, emptying the junkyard worth of filth and tetanus the former tenants had left behind. Every now and then he caught a glimpse of her at the old bathtub turned water trough, drinking from the water hose or washing off a particularly formidable layer of dust.

 _Heading to_ Battens  _to pick up some nails and stuff._

 _Battens_  was the only sign of civilization between Seaside and Kirkwall. A holdover from the days when general stores meant carrying a little of everything anyone outside of town might need. There was a small diner in the back, a greasy spoon that never made above a ninety on their health and safety inspection but somehow hadn’t killed anyone yet. There wasn’t a place in the Free Marches that made a burger and shake as good as theirs.

_Gonna grab some lunch while I’m there. You need anything?_

The chat background was a grey dragon, a joke from earlier in the summer. Garrett stared at the screen, blue box devoid of emoji. Essa wasn’t much for text speak, but  _Battens_ was one of her favorite places in the world near as he could tell; there was almost always an ice cream cone or a smiley beside the name. Of course, fifteen days ago, she would have asked him to join her. Now, it was a courtesy offer, one that they both made any time they left the cottage or headed for home from Kirkwall, given how far out they were.  _Battens_  wasn’t quite halfway back to the city, but it was still a fifteen minute drive.

_You want company?_

Garrett typed the reply before he could talk himself out of it, paused now staring at what was further proof of his own ego, finger hovering over backspace. It was clear that she didn’t, and especially not now. How selfish would he be to corner her on a car ride?

But he had to know where they stood.

Pepper yipped, voice shrill and joyous and Garrett startled nearly dropping his phone.

“Hey.”

Essa stood just on the other side of the screen door, almost soaking wet from head to toe. Her overalls were mostly dry which meant she’d shucked them in her attempt to get some approximation of clean before heading to the store. It was a fucking shame he’d been so busy brooding that he had missed that show. Fuck, he was a mess.

“Hey.”

Garrett’s heart was pounding suddenly; he told himself it was all that damp sun-bronzed skin, was relieved when at least part of him believed it.

“Did you get my texts?”

Essa’s gaze was firmly on Pepper and Garrett knew her well enough now to recognize when her smile was for one of the four-legged friends in her life. She dropped into a crouch, leaned forward to press one hand to the bottom of the screen. The bib of her overalls gaped, affording him a partial view of what had to be the most perfect breasts in Thedas. She had a pattern of freckles across her sternum. Water droplets mingled with those uncharted constellations and Garrett wanted to sip every star from her skin.

“Hawke?”

“I was—” Garrett tripped over tongue, held his phone up in answer, more or less grateful that she wasn’t looking at him anyway. “—just texting you back.”

Pepper crawled forward across the porch floor, nub wagging. Essa’s grin broadened and Garrett squashed a shot of jealousy that even he was better than. Wasn’t he?

“You are such a silly girl, aren’t you?”

Essa opened the screen door, scooting forward without rising from her crouch. Pepper threw herself into Essa’s lap and they fell into a giggling heap of arms and legs. Pepper shoved her face into the tangled cascade of Essa’s wet hair and then there was squealing as Essa hammed it up, rewarding Pepper’s boldness, encouraging the dog’s show of affection. It was still something of a miracle, Garrett thought, that she could even love at all.

_“We want her to know that her love isn’t just acceptable or tolerated,” Essa had said on the first night they brought her home. “We want her to know how very grateful we are for her courage.”_

Void take him. He  _was_  jealous. Not a damn way around it. Whether he deserved it or not, he wanted that kind of acceptance for himself, wanted it from Essa. Wanted to give it back to her in return, because for all the healing Essa and the cottage offered, he knew she took too little for herself.

And he had hurt her.

“Hawke?” Essa didn’t glance up as she began disentangling herself from Pepper. “Are you going to make me check my phone?”

She was still waiting for an answer to her texts. Garrett didn’t bother offering her a smile he knew she would refuse. It would have been a lie anyway.

“I—“

He took a deep breath, let it out slow enough that he caught her attention. Essa’s gaze slid past his shoulder, brow furrowing.

“I thought Pepper and I might ride with you,” he said, cursing himself for a coward.

Pepper was still gaining vocabulary, but there were six words she knew for certain, and every time they were uttered. One of those was “ride.” She nearly knocked Essa down as she jumped up, toenails tapping out a joyous tune on the floor as she cut a circle between them.

“Can’t say no to that,” Essa sighed, and Garrett felt like the worst of assholes. “Get her vest, while I change” she added, rubbing Pepper’s ears as she got to her feet. “Seanna can’t refuse a future service dog entrance and it’s still too hot for her to sit in the jeep.”

~*~

Essa’s hands were absolutely not shaking as she stomped into the cottage. The last month of summer was always the worst, with unrelenting days of muggy, stagnant air. Ripples of heat rose from scorched earth, waves thickest on black asphalt, haze inescapable even on the shore. Essa’s temper was short and dry as tinder; she sank deeper into solitude. Solitude that it seemed neither the dogs nor Garrett would be content to leave her to. Magic coiled in her fists, blue as flame and quick as lightning. She had built a wall of silence around her, familiar defense against her greater demons.

She couldn’t think of a single good reason he wanted to ride with her. Whatever warmth of friendship she and Garrett had found in the first months of summer had long since burned away. She supposed it was possible that he just wanted to take Pepper out. They tried to socialize her as often as they could and Seanna’s kids were always up at the store—playing in the sprinklers in the yard or sitting on the front porch under the misting fans—but Essa had been taking her up there by herself for the past week, giving Garrett much needed time alone with Caleb. The puppy loved his new sister, but he still needed a bit of reassurance. Garrett was doing a good job reassuring both of them of his affection.

But no, it was more than just a trip for Pepper. Something was definitely up, and odds were she wasn’t going to like it. No. No good could come from being stuck in a jeep with Garrett, not for fifteen miles or fifteen hundred.

Essa peeled out of her wet clothes, threw them and her boots into a sodden heap in the bathtub before she thought better of it and hung them over the shower curtain rod to dry. She’d just be throwing them on again when she got home. The mercury had dipped below sweltering and she was determined to take advantage of it while she could. There was—for good or ill—plenty to do, and now that Seaside’s future was pretty much assured, she wanted the barn fully functioning by early spring. Beyond a surprisingly tight roof, a sound foundation, and supports, there wasn’t much that didn’t need repairing or replacing. Or cleaning.

She would probably need the work more when she got back than when she started out this morning. With a little luck, maybe she would work herself into exhaustion, finally get a decent night’s sleep tonight.

There wasn’t much that ever cost Essa sleep, at least not much that didn’t warrant it. Getting up at odd hours in the night to check on a healing dog or to help with house training…well those were fine. But it wasn’t Pepper or Caleb keeping up these last two weeks. They both slept with Garrett anyway and he was determined not to “inconvenience her.” Whatever the fuck that meant. As if somehow he and his dogs had become an imposition and not the best part of her damn summer?

Void if she knew.

And she was tired of it. Fuck, Essa was just tired. She hadn’t been able to get more than a few words at the time from Garrett for the past fourteen days, and most of those didn’t make a lick of sense. He hadn’t once mentioned kissing her, hadn’t once mentioned her over-dramatic response to him kissing her.  But, hey, what did she know? Maybe they didn’t even need to. They still shared the chores, still took turns with meals, still co-cared for the dogs so that the youngest two got the attention they needed.

It wasn’t all...bad.

Pepper was making progress by leaps and bounds, but she was still healing. She was underweight and undersized, and she was understandably wary of the other dogs. Given the number of scars she carried, Essa knew it might be some time before she trusted that they weren’t going to attack her, but she was surprisingly friendly with people, desperate for attention and so damned grateful for food and love. Essa had been in her line of work for long enough to know she shouldn’t get attached, but she was also honest enough to admit that she had.

By the Mabari, everything about this situation was set up to break her. Next summer she was hiding out in the Frostbacks.

“You about ready?” Essa called as she stepped out of the bathroom, still tugging her dress into place.

She had grabbed the first easy thing her hand had landed on, a cotton jersey tank with a built in shelf bra and print reminiscent of old ring velvet.  Not that it should have mattered, and she was mad at herself that it did, mad at Garrett too for that matter. Of course, she had been mad at them both for weeks.

“Waiting on you, Trevelyan.”

It was Trevelyan almost exclusively now. Rarely Essa, never Es. Not even a teasing Miss Fine Whines. They were firmly in last name territory, and she hated it.

“You know,” he added, stepping in from the kitchen with Pepper in his arms, “you didn’t have to change clothes.”

Right. Said the man who looked like he had stepped off a summer calendar page. No one should look that good in a holey Crab Shack t shirt and a pair of faded jeans. Or maybe she just shouldn’t be so easily distracted. He had gotten a haircut in the last week, something cooler in deference to the heat. The top was a mess of thick spikes, the result of his constantly dragging his hand through it rather than in an attempt at anything that might approximate style, and it suited him. It was shorter on the bottom than the top, dark hair was cropped closely enough that Essa spent too much time thinking about running her fingers along the sides, scraping her nails to that little point at the nape of his neck. Maker, damn them both, she woke too many mornings body aching, fingers clenched around fading dreams.

“I put a bucket of fresh water on the back porch for the other three.”

Garrett raised one brow when she didn’t answer, tucked Pepper more securely in the crook of one elbow as he slipped a pair of mirrored aviator shades from his pocket. He had a habit of holding the dog in one arm—like she was a baby or something—her wagging bottom snug against him, Garrett’s hand splayed wide to hold her chest. Pepper, of course, loved it.

“There isn’t anything wrong with her legs,” Essa told him for what had to be the hundredth time.

Pepper was young, not quite a year old, and her growth was stunted from malnutrition. Doc Surana didn’t think she would ever be more than half the size of the average mabari, but that didn’t mean she needed to be toted around everywhere.

“She needs to walk.” Essa scrubbed one hand over her face in an attempt to erase her frown before Garrett could take credit for having more of an effect on her than she wanted him to know. “She’s got a lot of muscle to build.”

“I know it.” He grinned as he set Pepper down in the hall, adjusting her harness and snapping her leash on above her vest. “But she’s just such a little pocket-sized mabari, aren’t you, my best girl?”

Pepper wiggled at what was becoming as much of an endearment as a descriptor and Garrett bent down, broad hands rubbing her shoulders and sides as he offered his chin for kisses. Essa reminded herself that she wasn’t the jealous type; she sure as the Void wasn’t jealous of a mabari who needed the love more than she did.

“Alright, you two,” she grumbled, grabbing sunglasses, keys, and wallet from the entry table. “Let’s go. I’m driving.”

It was impossible not to smile as Garrett and Pepper pranced out of the house, and they did, in fact,  _prance._ The little mabari had her recovery challenges to face, but she wasn’t nearly as far gone as some of the dogs Essa had rescued and rehabilitated over the years. Still, Garrett saw everything she did—from the smallest progress to the mightiest—as worthy of celebration. He might carry her around, but he also praised every independent step, every display of fearlessness. Between the two of them was a self-sustaining feedback loop of love and encouragement.

Why couldn’t he have just been the asshole she thought he was when she first met him?

Essa stomped along behind them. Maybe he was. Maybe she wasn’t looking at him objectively. He had, after all, kissed her, and then walked away from her without a single word. The jerk. Maybe she wasn’t actually in love with him. Maybe she just loved how seamless he fit into her life, or how he loved the dogs. Maybe she—maybe she should watch her fucking verbs.  _Love?!_

Maker, what was wrong with her? It was a just a kiss. One stupid kiss. Maybe three depending on how that last one counted, but Essa wasn’t going to cop that bit.  _That_  was her own fault and she was still too pissed at Garrett to be completely ready to shoulder the blame that was her due.

Essa’s chest was tight before they had even reached the highway. Pepper was buckled happily into her safest harness, head hanging out the window as they picked up speed. There was an old country song on the radio, one of her favorites, low and smoky, with heartbreaking harmonies about love’s sad impossibility. No, it wasn’t love. Love like that wasn’t something she even wanted.

“You finally hear back from the grant?”

They were halfway to  _Battens_  before Garrett spoke, voice carefully neutral as he reached to turn down the radio. Essa kept both eyes firmly on the road, thankful for wrap around shades. They hadn’t talked about this since everything between them went sideways. When they had first discussed her tentative plans for the property and her business it had been with abstract hope, nothing that needed to affect him or their living situation. Too much depended on the grant’s approval and she wouldn’t have wanted him to move out either way. They had been on the same page there, she thought, but that was before.

“No,” Essa sighed. “But they’ve contacted my references. Vivienne—Doctor de Fer—expects the board to get in touch with me any day now. I’d like to have some pictures of the barn when I go.”

As of two days ago, Seaside officially belonged to the Chantry. Essa wasn’t entirely certain about its future. There was talk of a retirement home for templars, talk of a rehabilitation facility for those who left the order. There was talk of both, but it didn’t matter to her. The future of the land was assured; there would be no more carnivals, no threat of tourists. If all went especially well, the grants she had applied for would come through and her business would find a permanent home out here. She was hoping to add therapy horses to the work she already did with the dogs, and no matter which way Seaside went, she was hopeful there would be work for her just down the beach in the next year or so.

“If you get it,” Garrett began, staring out the passenger window, “how long before you get your first stipend?”

 _How long before I can move out?_  Essa heard.  She jerked her gaze back to the road, reached up to shove back a wind-whipped lock of hair. “Probably not until the first of the year.”

Garrett nodded. “I suppose that’s not so bad.”

She could all but hear him making plans in his head.

“No, it shouldn’t be.” Surely they could maintain as they had been these past two weeks. Essa glanced back at Pepper in the rearview mirror. “Your girl will be all fattened up by then.”

Neither Pepper nor Garrett would need her by First Day and Fin and Bethany would have a proper yard by then. Fin hadn’t said much to her since Bethany ratted her and Garrett out to him, but he had made certain she knew that Garrett had an out. As if she had ever wanted to keep someone who didn’t want to stay.

“I can’t believe how much weight she’s put on just this week,” he replied in what passed for smalltalk for them these days before they fell again to weighted silence.

Essa turned the radio back up, swearing under her breath when another love-done-me-wrong song crooned from the speakers.

“That’s enough from you,” she muttered to the radio, punching the power button harder than was necessary. Garrett’s answering chuckle was just wry enough to rankle. “You got something to say, Hawke?”

He held his hands up between them. “Not a damn thing, Trevelyan.”

Liars, both of them, but Essa didn’t call him out, and he didn’t call her from the quiet that sank around them, ill-fitting, but too familiar of late. They were only five minutes from  _Battens_ at this point, but the sunbaked miles seemed to stretch before them, an endless ribbon of summer heat. Essa couldn’t decide whether to rage or cry. She missed him, dammit. She missed evenings curled up on the couch with the dogs and old westerns. She missed wandering down the beach hunting horseshoe crabs to rescue with the Petey. She missed a hundred texts on the rare nights when he didn’t come home, a dozen conversations at once, everything from their childhoods to their dreams to  _hey, Es, you know you’d make a hot dragon_ accompanying some ridiculous—but impressive—cosplay that covered far too little skin. She missed waking to morning memes about llamas or sloths or whatever cute animal had hit his social media feed before she had even had her coffee.

“This is stupid.”

She hadn’t meant to say the words aloud, but there they were, beautiful in their simplicity, sharp edged and honest, and the moment they left her lips she committed to them, clung to them like a talisman against all the sleepless nights and unspoken desires.

“What?”

She didn’t dare look at him yet, but there was confusion in his voice.

“I said—“ Essa took a deep breath, let it out in a huff before raising her voice over the wind from the open windows. “This. Is. Stupid.”

She slowed down to pull off of the highway, but not enough to keep the jeep from bouncing across the dirt yard  _Battens_ called a parking lot. Pepper yipped excitedly from the backseat; it was all adventure to her. Essa pulled into her favorite spot beneath an old live oak, cut the ignition before turning to Garrett with a glare.  

“ _We’re_  stupid,” Essa added, in case he was somehow missing her point. She lifted her chin daring him to look away. Garrett’s jaw clenched beneath his beard, but he held her stare, dark eyes stubborn but wondering.  “And over what? A stupid kiss?”

“It’s more than that,” he gritted, all but jumping out of the jeep. He closed the door quietly, ran one hand through his hair.  “And you know it,” he muttered back through the open window.

He hadn’t walked away from her on the headland because of a single kiss. Not one or three or the hundreds she had dreamed about since then. He had walked away from her because she had behaved like one of those melodramatic mage in one of those stupid historical romances Cari loved so much.  _“I’m sorry,”_ gasped so tearfully and passionately, bemoaning her sad sad fate.  _“I didn't know how to tell you.”_

She may as well have thrown herself off the fucking cliffs.

“Oh, I know it,” Essa snapped. She was furious now that she had let herself be angry at both of them. “I know that you’re just as melodramatic as I am.”

Because really. She should have told him what? Mages might not be hunted or incarcerated as they had once been, but they still weren’t socially accepted. She could count on two hands the people who knew. She didn’t owe Garrett Hawke a fucking thing.

“I’m what?” He bit back his indignation with obvious effort, shot a glance at Pepper as if to remind Essa of why he wasn’t yelling. There wasn’t much that made her skittish, but raised male voices were one.

“Me-lo-dra-MA-TIC.” Essa kept her voice low out of fairness, enunciated slowly as she got out of the car. She came around to the rear passenger side where he was unhooking Pepper, met his scowl with one of her own. “I just couldn’t see it because I was too busy blaming myself for—”

“Blaming  _yourself_ —?”

“But I don’t owe you a fucking thing, Hawke,” Essa continued sweetly as if he hadn’t interrupted her. “I’m tired of feeling like I’ve wronged you somehow just by existing.”

She had been there too many times in her life, had promised herself she wouldn’t live that way again.

“I don’t want you to move out,” she said then, because it was the truth too, dammit, and it was time they laid some of that down between them. “I can get past the kiss.” Essa held up one hand when he looked as if he might interrupt her again. “But we’re going to have to talk about the mage thing. You come find me when you’re ready.”

~*~

She could get past the kiss?!

Garrett stared after her, for once too flabbergasted to notice the broad sway of her hips as she stomped across the yard. Okay, maybe not that flabbergasted. He was upset, he wasn’t dead, and that dress of hers was hugging every dip and curve just right. Maker’s breath, he was so relieved that she was talking to him that he hadn’t yet processed half of what she had said.

But he damn well wasn’t getting past the kiss.

“Trevelyan!” He had taken two quick steps after her when Garrett remembered that the hard packed dirt beneath Pepper’s feet was probably still too hot for her paws. He scooped her up, slamming the jeep door as he hurried after Essa. “Would you wait a second!?”

Essa wasn’t waiting. She wasn’t exactly running, but she had enough of a head start on him that she had made it up the steps and to the door before he reached the wide, wraparound front porch.

“Pepper!”

The delighted exclamation rang out in triplicate, rising over the jangling bell above the front door. Garrett watched Essa disappear into the store as Seanna’s brood rushed out to meet him and Pepper.

“Oh, look at you.”

Madison was all of eight years old and well on her way to being the bossiest kid Garrett had ever known. She was the oldest, red haired, freckled, with a quick wit and quicker hands. She planned on being a veterinarian one day.

“How’s she doing today, Mr. Hawke?” she asked in a professional tone.

Madison held her hands out to Pepper and Pepper reached back, paws scrambling for her friends. Garrett surrendered as graciously as he could, easing her down onto the porch. Madison’s little brother and sister—six year old twins, Laci and Denny—immediately dropped to their knees to greet the dog.

“Spoiled rotten,” Garrett said, handing Madison Pepper’s leash, while Pepper licked Laci and Denny until they were both gasping. “Part of that’s your fault.”

She grinned up at him, gapped teeth a cheerful flash. “Then we’re all doing as we should.”

He couldn’t argue with that, though he could have done without that Mr. Hawke bit. Garrett watched through the nearest window as Essa and Seanna exchanged pleasantries. Whatever discussion they were going to have, it would have to keep.

“She has on her vest,” Laci observed shyly, ducking her head so that her pigtails swayed. Pepper bounced forward into Laci’s arms, caught a mouthful of blonde curls, and drawing an uncharacteristic squeal of laughter from Laci.

“Easy now.” Garrett reached to gently extricate Laci’s hair from Pepper’s teeth. The dog certainly wouldn’t intend to hurt her, but hair pulled in the excitement was still pulled. “It’d break Pepper’s heart if she hurt you.”

“And that,” Laci pronounced solemnly, “would break mine.”

Garrett had a soft spot for Laci. She was the quietest of the siblings, but she had the fiercest temper. The first time he met her he had to pull her out of a fist fight with a kid twice her size.  He had later found out she was defending the honor of another kid who wasn’t even there, a new student at school who had some learning challenges.

“Her vest means she can come inside right?” Denny asked.

He was the most sociable of the three, six years old going on forty, his mother said, and Garrett had witnessed nothing to contradict her. Denny treated  _Battens_  like the store was his own little kingdom, greeting regulars at the front door, keeping up with who had a tab and who didn’t. Last time Garrett and Essa had come up, the kid had put their usual order in at the diner before they got past the front door.

“Right.”

One day, Pepper would be a proper service dog, with a bright vest emblazoned with bold letters warning others not to pet or distract her while she was working. For now she wore a “therapy dog in training” vest, and the only warning was “please ask to pet me!” encouraging social interactions just like this one. The more people she met who were good and kind the better.

“You know momma would let her in anyway,” Denny confided. “Essa’s family.”

There was something in those last two words, something vaguely threatening. Garrett met Denny’s blue eyes, found the kid’s gaze unflinching. He had faced less stalwart opponents across the boxing ring.

“Essa’s good people,” he ventured.

Denny nodded. “I’d have to sic Laci on anyone who made her cry.”

“Then you’d better sic Laci on you and your sister.” The indulgent drawl drifted out the open door with a wave of air conditioning. “Then on herself too.” Seanna stood in the partially open door, gaze shrewd and assessing. “Come on inside, all of you. The damage is done, you might as well give her your present.”

“Present?” Garrett asked as Madison and Pepper filed in first. His heart gave an annoying lurch at the thought of Essa crying.

“For Pepper,” Laci whispered loudly. “Well, for you and Essa and Pepper.”

“Don’t ruin it.” Madison sighed with all the exasperation only a big sister could possess. “By the Mabari, Laci!”

Garrett bit his lip to keep from laughing at the swear. Seanna shot him a knowing look; Madison could only have picked it up from Essa.

“I didn’t ruin anything,” Laci griped, accepting Garrett’s hand when he reached down to help her up. She hurried past her mother, fingers clinging tight to his as she dragged Garrett behind her through the store.

 _Battens_ was a rambling structure that had been added onto a half dozen times since it was built at the turn of the last century. The central part of the store was two stories with high ceilings and an open loft. A wide wooden staircase rose up just to the left of the double doors; it was roped off, but Essa had told him there were rooms up there for travellers or family. There was a bank of coolers on the far right wall, aisles of various and sundry items, food and toiletries and hardware fixings, quick car repairs like oil and filters and coolant. A pair of parallel wings had been added fifty years ago, running back off of each end of the main and forming a boxy U. The right was the diner, a dozen hard booths with chipped marble patterned laminate and uncomfortable benches, a lunch counter that never seemed to have a stool with even legs. The left was the feed room, shipments came twice a week to keep the locals stocked with grain and hay for horses and cows. Garrett wouldn’t have thought there were so many out here, but Seanna said she pulled a good business.

“Is Essa really crying, momma?” Laci reached up to catch Seanna’s hand, pulling her mother back a step as they reached the last aisle of the store.

“She is, honey.” Seanna’s brown eyes were kind. “But you’ll learn as you get older that sometimes that’s not a bad thing.”

“Psh,” Denny scoffed. “Crying’s always bad.”

Garrett might have agreed with him, but they had rounded the last aisle and there, at the back of the store beside a row of bait boxes and minnow tanks, was Essa. She had her hands over her mouth and her cheeks were wet. Her grey eyes were wide and, yes, filled with tears.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen her so happy.

“The box came in around the diner’s new fridge,” Seanna explained quietly to Garrett. Pepper and Madison bounded over to Essa, followed closely by Denny. “Wasn’t so much a box as folded cardboard, but the kids insisted on putting it back together. There’s enough industrial staples and glue to hold the thing for years,” she added with a laugh.

The box was easily a foot longer than Garrett was tall, and came up to his chin. It had been painted white with a blue top. Windows and a door had been cut out on the front framed with green shutters; there were more windows in the back and one on each end. They’d used  _Battens_  t shirts for the curtains, a different color in each window, and two tied together for a hanging door. “Pepper’s Home” was written in every shade of crayon above the door.

“Do you think she likes it?” Laci asked, tugging on Garrett’s hand.

Essa turned toward them then, gaze searching his. She had one arm around Madison, and one around Denny, but her lower lip was trembling. Garrett knew she’d lose it completely if she had to speak.

“She loves it,” he assured Laci. “Why don’t you tell us what all these flowers are?”

The kids hadn’t left out a single detail. They’d drawn window boxes beneath the cut out windows and colored in a riot of multi-colored flowers. Laci and Denny took turns pointing out each different one, calling out the names in a cheerful tumble.

“Can Pepper go inside?” Madison asked.

Essa nodded and when the tshirt door closed behind them, she turned back to Garrett and Seanna.

“You’ve got good kids there, Redcliffe.”

Her voice wasn’t more than a whisper. When it broke, Garrett stepped close, resigned to whatever retaliation she might find appropriate. He slipped an arm around her waist, more than half expecting her to pull away. Essa turned her face into his shoulder instead, took a slow, shuddering breath before her arms wrapped around him.  

“I’m still mad at you,” she mumbled.

“I know.”

“I’ll go put your orders in at the diner.” Seanna dabbed at her eyes with the hem of her t shirt. “Your usual?”

“Yes, please,” Essa said.

She sounded a little steadier now, but she didn’t let go, and Garrett knew he wasn’t going to any time soon. That much was certain. The rest, Maker willing, they would figure out. He pulled Essa closer once Seanna was around the corner, held her tight until he could feel her heart pounding as hard as his between them.

“I don’t want to move out,” he murmured into her hair.

It wasn’t the cottage, as magical as the place was. It was Essa, and she carried a magic with her that had nothing to do with the Fade. He had known that all along; he should never have let a little magefire make him doubt it.

“Good.” She took another deep breath and Garrett held his, waiting for whatever she might say next.

“Essa!” Denny stuck his head out the nearest window, made a face when he saw the two of them embracing. “You gotta see the inside!”

“Saved by the kid,” Essa teased. She pulled away, wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. “Is there room for all of us in there?” she asked, laughing.

“Maybe,” Denny replied. He didn’t sound very certain.

“Yes!” Laci yelled, before Madison shushed her on Pepper’s behalf.

“We’ll get out.”

Madison emerged a second later, shoving Denny out ahead of her, dragging Laci along behind. Pepper remained inside.

“She’s already figured out her bed,” Madison added, dropping the end of the leash behind her.

“Her bed?” Garrett asked.

She grinned. “Go see.”

Essa was grumbling as she stooped inside, something about bratty kids and stupid feelings that only made Madison’s grin broaden. Garrett found it easier to crawl, but once inside they could sit up quite comfortably. The little house was shadowed, but there was enough light coming in the back windows that he could see Essa clearly.

“Oh.” Her eyes were wide again. She held up one hand before Garrett could speak. “Not a word out of you, Hawke,” she hissed.

He didn’t know what exactly she was fussing at him for, but Garrett kept his tongue. Pepper was curled up on a folded quilt in front of a crayon-rendered brick fireplace. Above the mantle was a family portrait, markers this time, and a gold colored frame. The two humans were obviously Essa and Garrett, though they’d not received the same artistic attention as the four mabari crowded around them.

“I’m still mad at you,” Essa repeated, sitting beside Pepper as the dog wagged and whined, happy in her new den.

“I didn’t have anything to do with this,” Garrett said, in case she somehow thought he had. He was as blindsided as she was, and Void if he knew what he was supposed to make of it all.

“Oh, I know,” Essa grumbled crossly, making room for him before the “fire.” She shoved a lock of hair behind her ear. “But I don’t want you thinking I’m going to go easy on you just because of a few tears or a hundred.”

Garrett smiled. “Never that.”

He listened for the kids, heard them moving off calling a dozen questions to their mother, Laci asking again if Seanna thought Essa liked their gift.

“I don’t have a problem with you being a mage,” he said before he lost his nerve.

“Oh?” Essa’s brows lifted. “We’re going to talk about this here?”

“May as well.” Garrett shrugged, pitching his voice low beneath the gurgle of the bait tanks. “We weren’t exactly talking at the cottage. Maybe we can hit the major points here, talk about it more later?”

He needed to know there was going to be a later. He wanted her to know that he  _wanted_  later.

“Alright.” She settled more carefully on the floor, legs folded tailor-fashion, the skirt of her dress pooling in her lap. Shadows crowded across her face, but her gaze was direct again. Open. “Let’s see how much you can cover before the kids realize that yes, we will all fit in here.”

He snickered. “Yes, ma’am.”

Garrett stretched his legs out toward Pepper, toeing off his flipflops and pressing his feet to her side, as much for comfort as affection. Pepper licked his foot, dark eyes serious. He got the feeling she was trying to encourage him.

“My mother fell hard for an apostate.” The words were more and less than the truth, but the rest could come later. “Their marriage wasn’t a good one, and not for lack of love. Sometimes I think that made it worse.”

“I would drink to that,” Essa interjected softly, fiercely, “if we were home.”

If they were home. Garrett closed his eyes, tried hard not to read more into that simple phrase than he knew he should.

“I told myself I wouldn’t be so stupid,” he continued, blinking in the low light, staring toward the crayon fire. “And then I met Anders.” His smile was rueful. “We Amells are a predictable lot, I guess. Short version is that it wasn’t always bad, and then it was. Very.”

“And the long version?” Essa asked, leaning forward to scratch Pepper’s ears.

“The long version would probably take some liquid courage,” Garrett admitted. “A safe place not two steps from being invaded by Pepper’s fanclub. I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone the whole thing start to finish.”

“Not even Varric?” She sat up, tipped her head to one side as she regarded him curiously.

“Well, Varric was there for most of it.” But no, they didn’t talk about it.

“Okay.” She swallowed hard. “I guess I can see where going from one volatile mage to another wouldn’t be the kind of thing you’d want to repeat.”

“You’re not volatile.”

Essa’s laugh was sharp. Pepper glanced between them in concern.

“I am.” She made a soothing sound at Pepper. “Probably not the same way, but I am.”

That didn’t excuse his behavior. Maybe he shouldn’t have kissed her. Maybe he shouldn’t have told her he was falling for her, but he shouldn’t have turned his back on her either.

“I don’t care.” Garrett shook his head. “I acted like an ass, and I shouldn’t have made you feel like there’s something wrong with you. You being a mage doesn’t matter to me.”

Not like that anyway, and there wasn’t time to explain.

“You just don’t want to be kissing one.” She smiled faintly. “I can understand that too.”

“I got your milkshakes!” Denny called through front door.

Garrett groaned. “Another conversation for later?”

“Yeah.” Her eyes were red and puffy, but she was smiling at him, really smiling, for the first time in too damn long.

They would figure out the rest, wouldn’t they?

“KNOCK KNOCK!” Denny yelled. Garrett leaned back to open the door and Denny shoved two paper cups into his hands. “Gotta go back for the fries!”

He let go too quickly and Garrett bobbled the cups, managed to catch one, but not the other.  

“Dammit,” Garrett swore as the cup hit the floor, lid cracking, milkshake splashing across the floor.

Essa grabbed Pepper before she could dive on the slowly spreading mess.

“Language!” Denny shouted, feet pattering toward the diner.

“Bring paper towels!” Essa called after him. Garrett couldn’t tell if she was relieved by the interruption. “Mine or yours?” she asked nodding toward the mess.

“Mine,” he sighed, setting her shake to one side as he tried to scoop some back into the cup. He put the broken lid back in place, set it closer to the door so that Pepper couldn’t reach it. There wasn’t much on the floor, but the dog didn’t need the chocolate.

“It’s okay.” Essa’s hand was warm on his arm and when Garrett turned back she was close enough that he could count the freckles on her nose. “We can share mine.”

Her lips quirked up, cautious, but so damn real.

“Essa?”

Andraste, preserve him, he was going to kiss her again if he didn’t put some distance between them. And just when she looked like she might forgive him for the first time.

Her eyes narrowed; she read him as easily as she did her mabari.

“First time we can blame on the night before,” she told him a touch sharply. “I wasn’t thinking straight either.”

Garrett couldn’t argue with her there. Waking with her in his arms had definitely robbed him of any sense he thought he might have had.

“But you can’t kiss me again,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Not now that you know.”

She put one hand on his chest, fingers curling in old cotton. Garrett wasn’t sure if she meant to push him away or pull him closer. He sat motionless, afraid to move in the wrong direction.

“You still don’t know enough,” she said.

“No,” he agreed. His hands were sticky, and he was holding them off to the side so that he didn’t get milkshake on either of them. Essa still hand one hand tight in Pepper’s harness and she was glaring at him. “But I want to.”

“You want to kiss me?” She was almost teasing him, and his heart was beating too hard and too fast again.

“I want to know more.” Garrett offered her a wry smile. “Void, take me. I want to know it all, Trevelyan. Essa,” he corrected, watching as her eyes spun dark. “I’m sorry that I ran away from you.”

She closed her eyes.  “You didn’t—“

“I did.”

And he swore they would get to that. He owed her an apology, and a better explanation. And whatever secrets she wanted to share, he wanted to prove worthy of them.

“And you’re right.” He leaned forward, nuzzled her chin with his nose, tipping her face up so that her lips were a breath from his. He waited for her eyes to open again. “I do want to kiss you.”

“We have a lot to talk about,” she said, grip tightening on his shirt.

“We do.”

He rubbed his cheek against hers, waiting, asking, hoping. He wouldn’t make the first move. Not this time. There was still a great deal they needed to figure out. There was, he suspected, to be no small amount of groveling on his part. He could only pray she would let him.

“And we will,” he promised. “Whether you kiss me or not.”

“Whether I--?” She glared down at him. “You’re an asshole, Garrett Hawke.”

But the words were pressed to his lips—quick and sweet—before her smile curved against his and hovered.

“And I’m still mad at you. Like really mad.”

Stood to reason, he supposed. 

“Is that why you won’t kiss me properly?” Garrett asked.

“Order up!” Denny yelled from the other side of the door.

“No.” Essa laughed softly against his mouth. “That’s why.”


	5. Of Mermaids and Poorly Kept Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every year Essa and Fin throw a "we survived the summer" bash. This year is the biggest yet with Essa and Garrett's friend-families merging together. There is, as you might expect, MAYHEM.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a few things: I know this chapter is long. like 12k which is insane (though I suppose that’s what happens with an ensemble cast), but it’s all stuff from the same day and that’s how I organized this ridiculous fic, so there you go. Also! I’m shocked that there’s no smut, but there will be. Probably. I intend to write a silly smutty epilogue and then there’ll be a oneshot that takes place at the start of next summer. I have every plan to get those posted next week before I go on hiatus.

The last day of summer was in many ways Essa’s favorite day of the year. She and Fin had always celebrated, even when they were too little to do much more than sneak his dad’s favorite root beer out of the fridge and toast on the roof of the barn, feet dangling above air cooling with autumn’s dependable crackle. The mercury didn’t drop quite as predictably in Kirkwall, but they counted it close enough. Essa’s heart and temper always eased with her first breath of the last day of August.

This morning was shaping up to be particularly fine. Outside, the dogs chased butterflies through the watercolor streaks of a perfect sunrise. The air was cool, light above a dew-wet ground. She had already been out barefooted to collect vegetables for the cookout. Her feet were wet, as was the hem of her dress. The kitchen counters were a bright cornucopia—red, green, purple, orange, and yellow—one last major haul for sharing before she set to freezing and canning next weekend. It was a morning like so many before. Essa had been at Seaside for nearly four years now, and she treasured for the peace she had built here, but it was more than that now. Now, she couldn’t stop thinking about how much Garrett was going to love the whole domestic hullabaloo, how he had already threatened—grin as wide as a mabari’s—to buy her an apron. Something cute, with ruffles.

Joke was on him. She already had one. One of those trendy, patchwork fashion disasters so popular in the kitchen boutiques. Sera had sent it from Val Royeaux just last year with a random assortment of kitchen tools Essa hadn’t expected to be entirely useful. One of these days, Essa had promised herself, she was going to call Garrett’s bluff, surprise in nothing but that horrible apron, just to see if he really did have that farmgirl kink he swore by.

They just had to make it through the day.

Since she and Fin found the cottage at Seaside, they had expanded their early celebrations. Their end of summer barbeque had become something of a grand event, an all day, sometimes all night affair with too much food, plenty of cold beverages, and ridiculous games on the beach. It had started out as just a few of them—Essa, Fin, Sera, Cari—but the next year they’d added Bethany, Varric, Isabela, Bull and Bull’s book club, the Chargers, and the next had been friends Essa had made at work. With Garrett in residence it had grown still more, and this year was going to be the biggest yet.

She had started telling everyone to bring a bag of ice.

They weren’t likely to run out of food. Not with Fin’s smokers and Bull at the grill, and Cari and Bethany and Seanna bringing enough sides and desserts to feed half of Kirkwall. Still, It surprised Essa how little she minded. Despite the party that she truly enjoyed each years, she didn’t think of herself as particularly social, but she and Garrett shared a number of friends, and the cottage was as much his as hers, anyway.

That was the part that scared her to death.

The cottage wouldn’t be the same if he left, worse than that, Essa knew she wouldn’t be the same. He and Caleb and Pepper had left indelible marks on her home and her heart. She wanted to keep them forever, knew that it was far too soon to even think about such things, and damned if she knew what to about it. Living together complicated the fuck out of everything. Or so she assumed. She had only been in love once before and that hadn’t been the kind made for lasting. Even at the time Essa hadn’t wanted anything permanent, just a fierce, bright burn. The Fade had certainly given her that.

This thing with Garrett was worse. Well maybe not where her magic was concerned, but certainly in every other terrifying way. This was…enduring. There wasn’t a room in the house without memories of him—of them together. Mornings spent grumbling into their coffee mugs on the back porch, evenings on the couch, laughing, talking, or so tangled up in one another that the only hope for sleep lay on the other side of a cold shower. Sometimes a hot one. Garrett was in the shower now and all Essa could think about was walking into the bathroom, pulling the shower curtain back and offering him whatever he might want.

Not that she needed to be thinking about _that_ this morning. She had a party to prepare for, and anyway, they had decided—in a moment of idiocy or genius, Essa still wasn’t sure—that they weren’t having sex until Kingsway. Something about not rushing straight in...or taking the immediate pressure off…fuck if she could remember.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Kingsway started tomorrow. There were six circles around the date on the kitchen calendar, an assortment of bawdy stick figure drawings she and Garrett had started leaving as surprises for the other, though whether or not they were suggestions to be taken seriously, Essa wasn’t sure. There were at least two that might not be entirely possible depending on their height difference and other details, but she was game to try if he was.

“Good morning.”

She had been brooding too hard to hear the shower turn off, but Essa heard him step from the hardwood floor of the hall to the decades old linoleum, feet near silent but for the effort he put in not to startle her or the dogs.

“Good morning.”

His voice was sleep-rough, a deep rumble that spread into her back as he wrapped his arms around her from behind, body cooler than hers and still damp from his shower. He had worked late the night before and she hadn’t expected him to be up this early, much less coherent.  His chin came to rest on her shoulder and for a moment he leaned on her, body still clumsy and heavy with the Fade.

“Is this alright?” Garrett mumbled, beard a gentle scrape to bare skin. His lips followed that tiny abrasion, pressed wide and open to her neck.

“I’m not going to combust,” she reminded him, fingers closing hard enough to bruise on the tomato she was rinsing. “You’re sexy, Hawke, but my hands work just fine.”

Even if her body was increasingly dissatisfied with her own attentions.

“Not fair, Trevelyan.” He made a pitiful sound and Essa turned her face toward him, found his eyes closed and his face relaxed. “You know what that mental image does to me.”

He was all but asleep standing up.

Well, most of him.

“I _am_ aware.” She chuckled, pushing back with her hips, brushing her ass lightly against his erection until she heard the swift intake of his breath. “And you’re not playing fair either.”

She could tell, without looking, that he was wearing nothing but a bath towel, and Maker’s breath, she wanted nothing more than to turn in his arms, undo the half-ass twist he always used to secure the threadbare terrycloth low on his narrow hips. He knew exactly what he did to her, was more than a little proud of the fact unless she missed her guess.

“I’m not.” His smile curved against her neck, arms lifting to brush the undersides of her breasts. “Do you want me to stop?”

Fuck, no, she didn’t want him to stop.

“I hate how good you feel,” she groaned.

“That’s not an answer.”

They were taking things slow, and Essa hadn’t realized that she had no idea how to do that until they had made the decision that afternoon in Pepper’s house. Her past was only part of why they were taking things slow. There had been so much they were still learning about each other, so much that they were still learning, come to that.

“Es?” Garrett straightened up until he was no longer a welcome weight against her.  “Should I not have..?”

Essa sighed.

“I told you…” She turned carefully to face him, eyes steadfastly on his face and not the water glistening in the scattering of dark hair on his chest. “No apologies for who we are, my magic isn’t—“

“Your magic?” He blinked down at her, sleep clearing from dark eyes. “You think I’m…being…” He pursed his lips, trying to find words. Neither of them was particularly coherent before their first cup of coffee. “You think I’m being careful with you because of your magic?”

He’d be a damn fool not to be, Essa thought, and despite all assertions to the contrary, Garrett Hawke was no fool.

“Uh…” Essa stared up at him, blinked once. “Yeah?”

Her magic had manifested late—only ten years ago—and during her first sexual encounter.  It had taken her years to understand how her magic and her desires were linked, her magic and her temper too.  She had explained it all to him that first night after she kissed him at _Battens_ , had been more than a little shocked to find it only mattered to him because it mattered to her.

“No,” he said, so simply that Essa was certain she hadn’t heard him right.

“No?”

Garrett was smiling down at her now, eyes crinkling in the corners. His hair was wet and rumpled and Essa didn’t think she had ever enjoyed looking at anyone so much as the incorrigible man.

“No,” he repeated. “I’m not afraid of your magic. I’ve been kissing you for weeks now and there hasn’t been even a hint of blue in these beautiful eyes of yours.”

He touched her chin with the knuckle of one thumb, tipped her gaze up to his before she could even think of dodging, and she had been. His eyes were filled with fond exasperation, and something warmer, something more constant that she was still too afraid to name. Essa’s breath caught in her throat and she scowled.

“What have I told you about the b-word?”

She didn’t like being called beautiful. She knew she wasn’t and she didn’t mind one bit that she wasn’t. What she didn’t like was the lie.

Garrett _tsked_ at her. “And what have _I_ told _you_ about thinking you can decide what I find beautiful?”

He kissed her before she could argue further, lips moving over hers without any of the caution she had accused him of. One hand moved up to cradle the back of her head, as the other trailed to the small of her back, fingers splaying wide to press her closer to the hard lines of his body. He took his time for all his boldness, lips coaxing and taunting, sweet with cinnamon toothpaste and lazy summer mornings, that last as much of a miracle as everything else they were finding between them.

“You _are_ beautiful.” The words were whispered against her jaw as he kissed his way to her ear. “And objectively so in some cases.”

Essa pinched his side, knowing full well what his next comment was going to be.

“I don’t know that I’ve ever seen anything as hot as you in that red bikini.”

He nipped her earlobe in retaliation for the pinch, the small pain a bright contrast to the darker edge of rising lust. She was still shocked by how much she wanted him, how immediate and overwhelming that desire could be, a flash from the comfort of friendship to something more in the span of a one stumbling heartbeat.

“You’re just sex starved,” Essa managed to accuse as his lips moved to her neck. “And I get it.”

Her head fell back into his waiting palm as his teeth scraped the taut extension of her throat.

“You’ve been stuck out here in the middle of nowhere for so long…”

It had become a running joke between them. They had become better friends these last few weeks. There wasn’t much left that they hadn’t talked about, including their sex lives. Garrett hadn’t been celibate nearly as long as she had, but he had confessed to a much longer dry spell than Essa would have pegged on him.

“Haven’t you been paying attention?” He called her back from her thoughts with a smirk. “There’s nothing wrong with my hands either, you infuriating woman.”

No, there wasn’t. Those hands were on her ass now grasping, lifting. Essa took the cue and hopped back up onto the counter behind her, legs falling open so that he could step between her knees, his body flush against the cabinets below. They were closer of a height this way-- though she had the high ground--and the counter was just tall enough not to accommodate any ill-advised rush they might get into.

Mabari knew she wanted that rush. “Pics,” Essa said, looking him straight in the eye. “Or it didn’t happen.”

Garrett threw back his head, filling the quiet morning with his laughter. “You threatened to kill me if I ever sent you a dick pick!”

“I would too.” She grinned, catching his face in her hands and glaring at him.. “But didn’t someone far more poetic than me say something about how passion shows in the face, not the body?”

Essa’s cheeks were warm at the very idea and for all the wrong reasons. Still, she didn’t want a picture; she wanted him. And tomorrow seemed really far away.

“I had no idea you were going to turn out this kinky,” Garrett continued, oblivious to her internal debate. Her skirt had ridden up to her thighs and his hands were cool on her knees, thumbs a back and forth sweep that wasn’t quite soothing.

“But you hoped,” Essa snickered, trying to rally. She scratched lightly at his beard. “Don’t even bother denying it.”

His hands wandered unhurriedly up the outside of her thighs, stopped just before reaching the soft navy cotton of her dress.

“I won’t.” He was smiling as she leaned forward to kiss him, met what she had half-intended to be a playful kiss with sweetness and languor. “Should I put down a tarp for tomorrow or what?”

“I hate you,” Essa gasped on a laugh, nearly biting his lip as she pulled back. “I doubt I’m remotely that kinky.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that.”  Garrett slipped one thumb beneath the hem of her dress, dragging his thumbnail over the lace of her panties. This wasn’t new. Not quite, not yet. They hadn’t gotten each other naked, but they’d touched over and under clothes, making out on the couch like teenagers.  “I bet you’d like a little bit of leather.”

Essa snorted, trying to a hide nerves she wouldn’t want to own up to. “Since I can’t think of what in the world someone would need a tarp for…” She held up one hand when he started to speak. “Don’t tell me.”

He grinned up at her. “Are you sure?” He nodded toward her phone in the windowsill behind her. “I bet I can find visual aids and everything.”

“I’m sure!”

She caught herself on the edge of the counter, held on so she wouldn’t fall forward as her entire body bowed with laughter. Andraste’s tits, she wanted him, but this— _this_ —was what she loved most.

“Besides. Leather is for work.” Most of her training armor was leather. She waited a beat, couldn’t imagine he was going to let that go without a comment. When he said nothing—loudly and with eyes dancing—she continued, “Lace is for pleasure.”

Preferably black or red, sometimes blue.

“You’re killing me, Trevelyan.” The words were low and velvet dark, something meant for shadowed bedrooms or windswept nights on the beach, not the soft pastel of a summer morning. His gaze never left hers as he stroked her again, thumb sliding up and over her hipbone. “Is that what this is then?”

She couldn’t have answered if she wanted to, not with her breath trapped in her chest and her body yearning for him. Essa swallowed hard, managed something that she hoped passed for a nod.

“Black or red?”

He knew her too damn well already.  “Navy,” she whispered, so faintly she had to clear her throat and try again. “Same color as my dress.”

She liked the contrast. Her dress wasn’t anything special. A racerback t-shirt in navy and white stripes, something she could pull over her head in a moment, cool enough she could wear it all day, but underneath she liked wearing something a little fancy, well when she bothered to wear anything at all, and lately she had been doing that for her own sanity.

She couldn’t seem to stop thinking about getting them both naked.

And he knew it. Garrett’s grin was roguish and utterly impenitent, and Essa couldn’t help laughing. She leaned in to kiss him again, for no other reason than because she could.  

“Garrett?”

His fingers flexed against her legs.

“Es?” That single syllable was cool and cinnamon sweet against her lips and suddenly Essa just wanted him, all of him with a single minded urgency that shocked her. His towel was a soft scratch to the inside of her calf; It would take so little to get him naked.

“How committed are you to waiting until tomorrow?” she asked, touching one fingertip to the top edge of his towel before she lost her nerve.

His eyes spun darker than summer shadows, and he went utterly still in her arms. Essa stared into his face, heart hammering as she tried to read the sudden tangle of lust and...annoyance?

“Pretty damn committed,” he sighed, eyes falling closed a moment before his forehead clunked to hers.

“Really?”

It was just one day, less than that depending on how technical they were being on when the first day of Kingsway began.

“Believe me, not for any reason I’m happy about.” Garrett bussed a kiss to her lips. “Your asshole best friend just started up the back lane.”

“What?!” Essa turned to stare out the window, fingers fumbling across the counter to grab her phone. “He didn’t call!”

They tended to get started early, setting up the smokers so that they had a pork shoulder and ribs ready to go around lunchtime, but that had been when Fin lived here. Essa hadn’t expected him to drive all the way out from Kirkwall this early.

“Probably for the best anyway,” Garrett said, arms flexing as he pushed himself away from her.

“Coward,” Essa accused.

“Hey.” Garrett held both hands up between them, grin broad. “You’re the one who doesn’t want to tell them.”

“You’re not pinning that on me, Hawke!” Essa slid to the floor, grabbed the counter behind her when her knees didn’t quite hold her up. “Shut up.”

Garrett snickered.

“You’re the one afraid of Bethany finding out,” Essa added mutinously.

In truth, they’d decided together not to tell anyone until they were certain they had something to tell. They might be sure of their desires, but they weren’t certain of what they meant. Not yet.

Essa’s phone chimed cheerfully and she glanced back to see a text pop up from Fin telling her he was here.

“That’s my cue, I believe.” Garrett winked at her as he began backing across the kitchen.

“Coward!” Essa called after him. “You better get dressed and get back out here.”

“Oh, no.” He blew her a kiss across the kitchen. “It’s another cold shower for me, Trevelyan.”

“That is one impressive towel tent.” She smirked when she heard Fin’s feet hit the back steps. “You better run, Hawke.”

He stepped into the hall and suddenly Essa had a face full of towel, she caught a flash of bare ass as he rounded the corner.

“ASS!” Essa yelled.

“You might want to hide the calendar!” Garrett shouted back.

*

“Beer?”

Garrett had his sunglasses on snug, his old university ballcap pulled down low over his eyes, but he still felt caught. He had been half-dozing—half ogling Essa on her beach blanket a few dozen yards away—and trying not to think about this morning or about getting her naked when Fin walked up, a pair of green bottles in one hand, the other lifted to shade his blue eyes from the late afternoon sun.

Maybe it was because he had very much been thinking about getting her naked and how, with any luck at all, they were going to stay that way for most of the next several days. But it was more likely because, out of everyone here, Fin was one of the people he knew the least and one whose opinion mattered most. The man loved and was loved by the two most important women in Garrett’s life; he couldn’t help wanting his approval even if he chafed at the need for it.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Garrett reached for the open bottle Fin held out. The glass was thick and cool with condensation above a _Battens_ koozie.  “So you’re the other _Rolling Rock_ fan.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised. In the same ways that Garrett and Bethany were impossible to separate, Fin and Essa were equally inextricable. It helped, Garrett thought, having someone who understood those bonds, how life could strengthen them even with testing.

“Only sometimes,” Fin said, dropping down into the empty camp chair beside him. “I prefer a good microbrew, but those never last long with a crowd like this. Es has a six pack of my favorite IPA hidden under her bed for when most everyone heads home.”

He stretched his long legs out before him, toes burrowing in the sand as he lifted his beer to his lips for a long drink. He had something to say, something Garrett thought he might have even earned, but Fin wasn’t exactly in a hurry to say it. Garrett wasn’t yet certain if it was because Fin thought he deserved to squirm a bit or if he was choosing his words carefully. Could have been either. Was probably both.

Fin Larkson was a simple man, the kind poets and bards wrote sweet, lonesome ballads about without ever fully understanding or properly conveying their paradox. Garrett had recognized the type immediately upon meeting his sister’s beloved. Their brother had been much the same—quiet, contained, certain of his world—Carver just hadn’t lived long enough to become certain of his place within that world; he had always had something to prove.

Not Fin. Fin was a man born knowing exactly what he wanted in life, and not expecting anything from anyone but himself. Garrett would have envied him not long ago, but he was settled in his own skin now, and when the fuck had that happened?

He knew exactly when that had happened.

“You’re really going to stick around this time?” Fin asked.

His gaze was on the Waking Sea, but Garrett knew he had Fin’s full attention, just as he knew that Fin’s mild tone wasn’t meant to hide his concern. Fin wasn’t one for subterfuge. He was as honest as a blacksmith’s hammer.

“You worried about Beth or…?”

One of those was likely to bother Garrett than the other but he couldn’t bring himself to say Essa’s name. He trusted Fin to fill in what would never be a blank space.

“Both,” Fin said, pausing for another sip. “One more than the other.”

He lifted his chin toward Essa. She turned on her beach blanket, facing them without appearing to be paying them any attention. She was lying on her stomach, rash guard balled up beneath her cheek as a pillow. Her swimsuit was an old-fashioned looking two piece, navy bottom high-waisted and low cut at the legs. The top was a red and white striped halter, jaunty bow tied behind her neck.  For most of the day, she had been wearing the biggest, rounded pair of white sunglasses Garrett had ever seen, gaze and half her face obscured, but those were folded beside her now, and he could read the concern between her brows even at a distance.

“She has a better left hook than your sister,” Fin mused, as if he were discussing sports or the weather. “And she’s not nearly as reluctant to throw one as Beth.”

Fair enough. Garrett watched the waves tumble, blue-green and murky until they crashed grey and white with foam. “You thinking to throw one for her?”

He knew a warning when he heard one, but Fin didn’t strike him as the type. Garrett took a long gulp of beer, waiting for an answer he didn’t need. If he broke Essa’s heart, he would break his own, would no doubt appreciate whatever retribution Fin saw fit to dish out.

“Maybe if she asked me to,” Fin chuckled. “I’ve sparred enough with Essa that I can throw a decent punch, but no, I’ll leave the violence to the rest of you. Bethany has always had more than enough warriors in her life.”

Garrett had thought he was being interviewed, but he suspected with that simple phrase that Fin was granting just as many answers as he was demanding. His sister had found the right man, not that Garrett had doubted her choice.

“I’ll drink to that, Larkson.” Garrett raised his bottle toward him.

Fin smiled, leaning slightly in to clink the neck of his beer bottle to Garrett’s. “This is the part where I ask you again if you’re planning on sticking around.”

Garrett huffed a laugh, the sound not quite right and carrying just enough with the breeze that Essa opened her eyes. Her gaze sought his through waves of sun and heat. For a moment Garrett couldn’t breathe.  

“I wouldn’t have come back if I hadn’t planned on staying in Kirkwall,” he finally managed, trying to focus on anything but the slow curve of her smile, the play of muscle in her shoulders as she pushed herself up to hands and knees, and then to sit. Isabela called something across the sand and Essa tipped back her head, laugh echoing brighter than the day. “It’s home enough,” Garrett added.

And Maker knew, everyone he loved was right here.

He hadn’t expected the crowd, though he supposed he should have. Essa and Fin had told him there would be too many for the cottage. He had helped them set up screened tents in the yard and down here on the beach early that morning. The former was one of those big white event numbers, complete with tables and chairs and standing fans, bright orange extension cords stretching cheerfully across the grass. The latter was just the garden variety beach tent, a carpet of terry cloth and coolers. No one had to go far for shade or a cold drink. There had been lunch waiting up at the house, smoked pork and rolls, fruits and vegetables, and more varieties of ice cream than Garrett had ever seen outside of a proper shop. The kids—Seanna’s three as well as Aveline and Donnic’s daughter Izzy and their foster Ellis—had stared at the tubs nestled in their iceboxes as if they’d found buried treasure.

“We both know I’m not talking about Kirkwall,” Fin replied quietly.

“I know.” .

He had managed to steal a single kiss from Essa while her lips were still sticky and sweet with blackberries and sweet cream and before Fin had come over to talk, he had been trying to figure out how he could manage a repeat now that everyone was back down on the beach, bellies too full for the water, lazing in the sun like seals. Everyone but Essa and Bull were slathered in sunscreen. They had mocked the rest of them for their “spf pansies” and had a grand time spraying one another down with something lower than Garrett’s daily moisturizer.

 _Yeah, that’s right, Trevelyan,_ Garrett thought, watching as she stretched languorously on her beach blanket; he knew she was teasing him. _One of us is going to look like a dragon when their old and it won’t be me._

Not that there was a damn thing wrong with Essa’s skin. She might spend a lot of time in the sun, but she had an evening routine that bordered on torment—for him at least. They kept the house open to the air, maximizing the efforts of the fans, and he had lost count of how many nights he’d drifted to sleep with the scents of aloe and coconut oil drifting through the air only to wake from restless dreams of Essa’s hands gliding smoothly over her naked body.

Then his.

Fuck, he had to stop thinking about her or he wasn’t going to make it through the rest of the day without embarrassing himself.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Garrett admitted crossly, because dammit, he had to tell someone, and why not Fin? Why not the one person in the world whose opinion might matter to the woman he loved.

“Then Maker keep you, Hawke.” There was laughter in Fin’s voice as he got to his feet.  “Today’s going to be a long day for you.”

Garrett only had a moment to wonder what he meant—Had Fin seen the calendar? Would he even make such a comment if he had?—because now Varric was headed their way, a pair of bottles in held in one broad hand, notebook and pen in the other. He said something quiet to Fin as they passed one another, and Fin laughed, shook his head, before continuing toward Bethany’s chair.

“You feeling anti-social, Hawke?” Varric asked as he took Fin’s vacated seat.

“Call it foresight,” Garrett grunted. Fin hadn’t been talking about the calendar. “Apparently part of me realized I’d be in interviews all day.”

Garrett had set his chairs up a little away from the main cluster of tent, blankets, and umbrellas, just in case they decided to bring the dogs out. Ellis, the child Aveline and Donnic were fostering, was understandably wary of dogs and mages, and she had a nose for the latter. She didn’t trust Bethany and Merrill, but she was curious about Essa, and she had asked often enough about Pepper that Garrett had told her he would try to bring her out before they left.

“Can’t your best friend just come over for a chat?”

Varric handed him one of the beers. Garrett set it in the cup holder on his chair; he still hadn’t finished Fin’s bribe.

“Not today,” he retorted. “You’re looking for a story and you know it.”

Varric had that look in his pale brown eyes. One Garrett knew too well. Varric humphed affably enough as he settled back, notebook on his knees.

“I’ve hardly seen you this summer.” Despite the accusation, Garrett knew Varric was unperturbed.  “I probably wouldn’t recognize you if I passed you on the street.”

Garrett laughed. “It’s the sunburn isn’t it?”

No matter how much time he spent in the sun, all he ever did was burn.  His nose was peeling—again or still, he couldn’t be sure—and Essa had threatened him with aloe when they all went up to the cottage for lunch. He had been distracted off and on all afternoon with the details of the well-developed fantasy that little threat had spawned.

“It’s not a bad look for you.” Varric smirked; Garrett knew he meant more than the sun. “You could still drop by the _Hanged Man_ once in awhile, though. Bring Essa. You know we all love her.”

He had been meaning too, and yes, he knew that his friends loved Essa, just as she loved them, but for all that the summer had been too blighted easy, there had still been some rough spots. He was hoping they were past those now.

“We’ll come by soon.” Garrett shrugged. “I’ve just been staying busy.”

Varric slipped a pair of sunglasses from the pocket of his tacky tropical shirt. “So you’re finding enough work, even out here?”

He was surprisingly. Garrett had always seen himself more as a hero for hire, but lately he was half hero, half private investigator, half handyman. Alright, so that was three halves, but the point stood. He had found a balance that worked for him, even if he had to have three different apps just to do his damn taxes. Void take him, he’d become responsible and as much he wanted to blame the change on Essa, he knew better. He had been headed that way for a year now, picking up bits and pieces of the life he’d lived before, measuring them against the life he wanted and discarding any that didn’t make the cut. He had come back to Kirkwall because it was near enough to home, because the city had his sister and his friends, and he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

“Maybe even the right kind for once,” Garrett laughed. He nodded to where Seanna and the kids were sloshing through tide pools. Aveline, Donnic, and Ellis not far behind them. The day had been good for Ellis. Aveline said she thought being out of the city had helped; she hadn’t seen her so at ease since they rescued her.  “Seanna’s got eyes and ears all over the area, and there’s a board up at the store. Someone always needs something done.”

He split his time pretty evenly between the jobs Seanna found him and the work he did in Kirkwall, and he loved both for different reasons.

Varric nodded, agreeing with things unspoken, and they fell to companionable silence, for precious moments simply enjoying the slow stretch of the afternoon toward evening. The day had been warm but pleasantly so as the months slanted toward autumn. Essa was relaxed, more than he could recall having seen her all summer. She was back on her stomach, had one leg bent at the knee and foot swinging in a wide circle. Every now and then she would join in one or a half dozen of the conversations around her, cracking a good-natured joke with Sera at Cari’s expense or coming to someone’s defense when they couldn’t dish it back. This last was usually Cullen. He was going to marry into their group next year and he hadn’t quite gotten comfortable with the dynamics. Garrett hadn’t quite gotten used to Cullen and Essa being such obvious friends. He had known she worked for him, hadn’t known that he had the first service dog she ever trained from a rescue.

“Curly’s alright,” Varric said, as if reading Garrett’s mind. “He and Es go back a ways.”

“I know.” They had talked about that too, in the quiet hallow of Pepper’s House. Garrett wasn’t sure how he felt about Essa seeing Cullen as her own personal Templar, but it wasn’t really his place to feel one way or another.

“You know, huh?”

Garrett nodded absently, watched Essa bounce to her feet. She had lazed around long enough. She would be back in the water in another moment, grin bigger than the whole damn sea, long hair wild as a mermaid’s, and what little concentration Garrett had would be lost.

“Tell me again,” Varric began, lips twitching just enough to warn Garrett he wasn’t going to like the next question. “Why haven’t you two…?”

Garrett jerked his gaze from Essa to Varric. He should have known the question was coming. Varric always saw too much, kept every observation neatly recorded in that little moleskin journal of his. He was writing now, probably had tan lines on his knees from where he propped the thing up.

“Who two?” Garrett asked, inelegance unmissed by the person who knew him best in the world. Well, second best, maybe.

“You and Essa.”

Varric didn’t bother dissembling; Garrett would have appreciated the effort too much. As it was he was trying, and failing, to not look guilty.

“She’s my roommate,” Garrett declared, as if he thought the answer should be good enough.

“Pull the other leg,” Varric retorted flatly.

“Fine.” Garrett took great pains to look anywhere but at Varric or Essa. “We’re taking things slow.”

“Slow, huh?” Varric chuckled. “What does that even mean for you, Hawke?”

“It means if you tell anyone, I will kill you.” Garrett could appreciate the mockery. He had more than earned it in the past. “It means I won’t be giving you fodder for writing,” he added, jerking his chin toward Varric’s tapping pen.

It also meant no secrets, no sex, and absolutely, under no circumstances, were Bethany and Fin to find out about them until they knew for sure what they were doing. Garrett had basically ruined that last one not ten minutes ago. There was no way Fin didn’t know. Garrett’s only consolation was that he suspected Fin had known _before_ their talk.

“Sounds serious,” Varric observed so mildly that Garrett wanted to hit him.

He was so serious, he hadn’t even noticed the signs until he was past them. He had been pretty sure he was in trouble that night on the couch, but from the moment she kissed him at _Battens_ , Garrett had known he would never recover from Essa Trevelyan.

“Serious?” he scoffed when he realized he had been quiet for too long. Varric’s brows lifted above his shades, but Garrett continued determinedly, “Not on my worst day, and never my best.”

And he damn well was at his best these days.

“Liar.”

He had been once, though he wouldn’t have considered himself so at the time. He had always compartmentalized, crafting careful versions of the truth to protect those he cared about just as much as himself. He carried secrets like scars, memories pale and muted so they wouldn’t continue to wound, but that’s not how it was with Essa.

“Less and less these days.” Garrett pushed to his feet, grabbed the empties from between him and Varric.  “Secrets kept aren’t worth much out here.”

He tossed the comment over his shoulder as he walked off, knowing full well it would eat Varric alive. He didn’t think he and Essa had many secrets left, and if they did it was only because they hadn’t remembered them yet. They had Seanna and the kids to thank for a good bit of that, though Void if he knew how to go about thanking them. Pepper’s house now sat in a place of pride on the front porch, and had served as both haven and confessional in the past two weeks. He and Essa had found it easier to talk about difficult memories while sitting in front of that crayon hearth, Pepper and sometimes Caleb on the quilt in front of harmless, heatless fire. They had sometimes spent all night serving up the worst of themselves in that paper house with a side of homemade ice cream, hoping that sweet cream and summer berries would somehow balance the sharp and the bitter and the bruised.

And they had, somehow, whether through the Maker’s grace or Essa’s, they had.

“Place your bets!” The Iron Bull’s voice boomed out suddenly. “The third annual Chargers Chicken Showdown is about to begin!”

Seanna’s laugh drifted across the sand. “That’s our cue to head home.”

Garrett frowned. “Why…?”

He looked over to see Aveline and Donnic packing up their chairs as well.

“Because the innuendo is the only part better than the show and the kids are starting to figure that out.” Seanna walked over, dropped a kiss on Garrett’s cheek. “Tell Essa we had a wonderful time.” She nodded back to where the kids were packing up their beach toys, movements slow and clumsy. “Denny and Laci are about to fall out anyway.”

They’d played all day. Everyone had. Football, bocce ball, crochet, swim races, and sandcastle competitions. Garrett wouldn’t have thought there was enough energy for more.

“You can tell her.”

Essa was jogging across the sand toward them. She stopped by Aveline and Donnic’s chairs first, helped them finish packing up their beach bags. Aveline and Essa had been friends for years, Garrett had recently discovered. He still couldn’t believe how long they had spent in one another’s orbits.

“You weren’t leaving without hugs were you?”

Essa had Izzy on her back as she came running up, her arms fast around Essa’s neck. Denny and Laci each grabbed one forearm and Essa planted her feet, made a show of lifting them off the ground with a pair of arm curls. He had seen her do it before, but it made his knees weak every time.

He held one arm out to Madison with a grin and she grabbed hold, elbows bent, chin on his arm. Her form was better than her siblings. Garrett was pretty sure he could lift her longer than the deadweight Essa had and he was about to say so.

“Maker’s breath, the two of you,” Aveline sighed as she and Donnic joined them. Ellis was on Donnic’s shoulders, blonde curls a mess, dark eyes wary but filled with understandable fascination as she stared down at Essa.

“You’re going to bring Ellis and Izzy out another weekend, right?” Essa asked, dropping a kiss to Denny’s and Laci’s foreheads as she set them down. She reached back for Izzy, slung her around in a quick move that made her squeal with delight.

“We promise.” Donnic jostled Ellis’s feet lightly. “She wants to see Pepper.”

And they day had gotten ahead of them.

“I think we can arrange that.”

Essa grinned, passed Izzy to her mother along with hugs and kisses while Seanna and the kids did the same with Garrett.

Seanna grinned, dropped a kiss on Garrett’s cheek, then Essa’s. “See you two for lunch next week?”

“Count on it.”

There were more hugs and kisses, too many to count—Garrett was pretty sure he even kissed Essa’s cheek somewhere in the mix—and then Ellis caught a handful of Essa’s hair.

“You’re not the bad kind are you.”

A statement, not a question. Garrett didn’t realize that his heart was in his throat until Seanna squeezed his hand in comfort.

“I…” Essa took a slow breath, one hand reaching back for Garrett. Everyone here knew that Essa was a mage, but he doubted she had ever spoken much of it surrounded by so many. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew she was rallying, knew from the tilt of her head that she was staring up into Ellis’s eyes without flinching. “I don’t hurt people to use my magic.”

Every word was chosen with care, and Ellis didn’t miss a single one.

“But you hurt people?”

Essa nodded. “I’ve hurt people who hurt people like you. I’ve hurt people who hurt people like Pepper.”

Her fingers were steady in Garrett’s and he held as fast as he dared, trusting Seanna wouldn’t call him out for how his other hand was shaking.

“Essa, you don’t…” There was heartache in Aveline’s voice. She was trying to come to Essa’s rescue. Garrett could see in her eyes that she didn’t know Garrett knew about this too.

“It’s alright,” Essa said and Garrett watched Denny sneak back into the cluster of adults to wrap one arm around Essa’s waist.

Laci followed. Seanna caught Madison with her other arm, but didn’t stop her when she reached for Essa and Garrett’s clasped hands. Shit, no one could survive life loving like this, Garrett thought. Maybe that was why they all loved each other so damn hard.

“I have hurt those people,” Essa continued while Ellis stared down at her finding trust in every stark truth. “I will hurt those people again.”

Ellis nodded then slowly released her hold on Essa’s hair. “Okay.”

Donnic cleared his throat, taking a short step back just before Essa did, nearly tripping over Madison and Garrett. Seanna caught them all, a mother’s strength holding fast until they all got their bearings.

“So, we’ll see you next week sometime too?” Essa asked, brightly enough that Garrett knew there were tears in her eyes.

Ellis nodded. “Pepper too.”

“Pepper too.”

“Hate to break up the party,” Sera interrupted, flops louder than necessary on the warm sand, expression just a little too deliberately neutral. They all owed her for the rescue. “But Bull says it’s time to mount up.”

There was laughter then, too loud but honest, too many hearts breaking and healing in that wavering chorus for it to be anything but.

“Then I’d better get to it,” Essa snickered. “I have a title to defend.”

She squeezed Garrett’s hand, knuckles pale before she let go, turned to drop a kiss on Denny’s head.

“Horns up!” she shouted, launching herself into a dead run back toward the shore.

Bull was standing in calf deep water, grin broad, but even from a distance, Garrett could see that his stare was shrewd. He had wanted to be jealous of the qunari. Garrett had never seen Essa quite as affectionate as she was with Bull, but it was hard to begrudge anyone who loved the infuriating woman.

“Horns up!” Bull shouted back.

He reached one hand out, good knee bent so that when Essa reached him—water splashing splendidly—she stepped up onto his thigh, swinging up without a single hesitation, one hand in Bull’s the other on one of his horns. The movement was so fluid Garrett had no trouble imagining the bawdy comments from their friends. He was a little sad he wasn’t close enough to add his own.

“Mayhem,” Sera said, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the sea.

“Mayhem,” Garrett agreed.

*

Essa clung to Bull’s horns, never so thankful in her life to be off her feet. She didn’t think they would hold her, didn’t think her chest would hold her heart for that matter, and her eyes had certainly failed her. Bull turned toward the far horizon, staring with her into the infinite seascape so that no one would see the tears she damn sure wasn’t ashamed of, but hadn’t been prepared for. She had always had a soft spot for kids and dogs and horses. Something about the way they loved, all blind courage and fierce as fury.

She had known that today might be hard. Aveline had prepared them all for Ellis, done her best to prepare Ellis for them, but the child was understandably afraid of mages. Even Beth and Merrill, neither of whom bore Essa’s sometimes imposing physicality. Add to that the fact that Essa was as much mabari as anything and she had determined to give Ellis as wide a berth as the child might need.

Turns out she had just needed the truth. For better or worse, that was something Essa had in spades. There was no room in her life for the alternative. She had watched lies and secrets rip her sister apart for too many years. The Trevelyans as a whole hadn’t been gifted with much honesty, and her college shrink hadn’t been able to figure out how it hadn’t hurt Essa more than it had, but they were Cari’s family, not her own. She was a Larkson in all but name, had only kept her father’s for Cari’s sake.

“You alright, boss?”

Bull’s hands were a comforting weight on her thighs, fingers spread wide for support she usually didn’t need on her perch.

“Never better.” Her voice cracked on the last syllable, but the sentiment stood. “Though I may need you to wade out deeper, duck me into a good wave. Merrill’s going to want pictures soon.”

“You asking me to get you wet?” Bull asked, mischief unrestrained. “How’s your roommate going to feel about that?”

Essa kicked back with one foot, slapping him hard in the abs with her heel and earning a satisfying grunt.

“That’s what I thought,” he chuckled.  “He know about us?”

“Not the details,” Essa replied, not bothering to deny what Bull had already figured out. She knew it wouldn’t do a bit of good. “But yeah, you came up in the sexual history portion of our interviews.”

“He’s not the jealous type then.” Bull started wading out farther into the water. “Good. You wouldn’t work with anyone who was.”

“No,” Essa agreed, letting her breath out slow, dragging in another, calmer, cooler, sweet with salt. “We haven’t told anyone yet. Bethany…”

“Doesn’t want her brother costing her another friend,” Bull finished for her. “She won’t be able to see beyond past experiences to how serious you two are.”

“’How’--!” Essa screeched. “Who the fuck said we were serious?”

“The whole damn beach can tell you’re serious.” Bull’s laughter boomed louder than the breakers, but he kept his voice low enough that only she could hear. “That little scene up the beach was pretty intense, or did you miss that?”

“No, I didn’t miss it,” she hissed back. “And if you’re talking about the blighted hand holding, I’ll remind you that Denny was wrapped around me so tight my breasts were resting on top of his head.” She leaned forward, doing the same to Bull. “If a handhold is serious, what’s this? A marriage proposal?”

“If it is, Denny’s got dibs. I’m not fighting the kid for you.” The water was up past his waist now, and blissfully cool on the bottoms of Essa’s feet. “That sister of his is a little slip of wrath and he’s unscrupulous in wielding her.”

“Yes, she is,” Essa laughed. “And yes, he is.”

They reminded her a little of herself and Fin at that age.

“You ready?”

Bull stopped walking when the water was at his chest. The sea hardly moved him and the waves were momentarily calm. He spread his feet, stood steady as the cliffs to the east and the cottage that sat upon them. Essa squeezed his neck with her knees, as much hug as she could manage.

“May as well be.” She had finally stopped crying. Didn’t quite feel like she would burst into tears again the moment she saw Garrett. He knew—and more importantly, she knew that he knew— what the entire exchange had meant to her. “We have a title to defend don’t we?”

“Yes, ma’am.” His grip on her legs firmed. “Looks like we got a good one coming.”

The wave rolling toward them was high, crest feathering just slightly in the breeze. It would hit them hard, toss them back and forth a bit, shove them toward the shore once they’d been washed of whatever they carried. It was a ritual for them, not that they ever spoke of it as such, but they always washed the summer from them before the competition. This was the first year Essa had been in tears.

“Ready.” Essa grinned. “Horns up!”

They were laughing as the wave hit. Essa barely got her mouth closed in time, but that was part of the tradition too. She held on with her legs as the sea tossed them up and down, could feel Bull’s laughter rumbling beneath her. They came up sputtering in the shallows. Essa had—as usual—lost her seat, but she was still holding onto Bull’s neck with both arms and he had one wrapped around his back, holding her against him, fist tight in her swimsuit.

“Idiots,” Sera huffed as Bull let Essa go. Essa flopped to her butt just in time to take another wave to her face. “You two quite through, then?”

Sera was standing over them, scowl pulling her nose into an impressive sneer neither of them believed at this point in their friendship. She reached one hand down to Bull, grunting and swearing as he helped her drag him to his feet. Essa wiped water from her eyes, blinking away the salt sting.

“You okay?”

She closed her eyes back the moment Garrett spoke, voice low and quiet, but tone so carefully friendly no one would think he was asking after anything more but her and Bull’s rough ride back to shore. His fingers brushed her shoulder, warm where her skin was still ocean cool, and Essa glanced up at him from beneath her lashes, both terrified of what she would see and grateful for it. He was holding his sunglasses in his other hand, his dark eyes soft and only for her.

Dammit, Bull was right. They weren’t fooling anyone, and if he didn’t stop looking at her like that, she was going to kiss him in front of the whole damn beach and then where would they be?

“Suit’s probably full of sand,” Essa quipped, slapping one hand into his open palm and letting him pull her to her feet. There was nothing telling about that, surely. Sera had just done the same to Bull and no one was accusing them of anything. “But that’s just the toll the sea demands, right? Sand in awful places.”

“Seems that way.” He grinned, slipped his sunglasses back on until all Essa could see was her reflection staring up at him with eyes too wide. “I’ll help you with that later.”

His hand was still in hers, warm, solid, strong fingers laced snug. Essa counted the seconds, wondered how many were too many but, Andraste’s preserve her, she didn’t want to let go yet.

Maybe ever.

“Stop that.” Garrett let go of her hand, gave her a little push so that she stumbled a step away from him.

Essa glared back at him. “You started it.”

“I most certainly did not.”

He looked so offended, even with the protection of his shades, that Essa guffawed.

“When did you become such a shitty liar, Hawke?”

His grin was immediate, so broad she could see his dimples even through the thick scruff of his beard. She wanted to drag him down into a kiss, put to rest the doubts she didn’t think anyone had.

“You need to stay away from me, Trevelyan.” He didn’t look like he meant it for one moment. “Or we’re going to ruin what ruse we have left.”

“Bull knows,” Essa confessed, falling in beside him—but not too close—as they made their way to where the others were waiting. “Money’s on Sera too.”

“Varric,” Garrett sighed. He took a deep breath. “Fin too.”

“Mother fucker!” Essa exclaimed. She drew to a halt, turned to face him. “Are you serious?”

He lifted his hands to the sides, shoulders rising on a shrug. He was sunburned again—still…damn if she knew, only that it was worse—and Essa pretended that was why she reached for those flexing muscles.

“You look terrible,” she muttered, wiggling her fingers just above his skin. “Do you want me to….?”

She couldn’t heal him completely, not distracted as she was out here in the heat, but she could dull some the sun’s punishment.

“Es…” A breath only, so quickly snatched away by the breeze no one else could possibly have heard everything Essa thought she did in the way he said her name. Garrett shook his head. “I think it’s best we don’t touch each other at all until they’re gone.” His lips twitched. “And using your magic on me for the first time isn’t something that should be done with an audience.”

Well, that was something she had never considered. Damn them both, she was interested too.

Essa turned back to their friends, realized she and Garrett had a very captive audience. Their friends were all standing around the tent, presumably waiting for the photo ops Merrill always insisted on before each competition, but they weren’t even pretending that they weren’t staring openly.

“Shit.” Garrett took a step past her toward the rest of the group. “Bethany is going to kill us.”

“You maybe.” Essa started after him. There wasn’t much else to be done for it. “Plan?”

“Tacit denial.” Garrett muttered over his shoulder as Essa caught up beside him. “It’s their word against ours,” he added, lips barely moving, so that Sera couldn’t read them. “Though for Andraste’s sake you have to stop touching me.”

Essa caught her bottom lip in her teeth to keep from smiling.

“And definitely don’t do that.” He jerked his gaze back forward.

“Then you have to stop looking at me like that,” she whispered back. “I have a title to defend and you’re a blighted distraction, Hawke.”

“AHEM!”

Bull drew everyone’s attention back to the day and Essa vowed to get him a gift card to his favorite clothing boutique.

“We gonna get this started or what?”

“Yes, please!” Essa blew Bull a kiss, and it wasn’t even a partial truth when she said, “I’ve had enough serious stuff for the time being. Let’s knock some people down!”

The rest of the afternoon was a blur, thank the Maker. There was the annual picture of her, Sera, Dagna, and Bull, wherein Sera, Essa, and Dagna all tried to find various acrobatic poses on various parts of Bull and he tried to balance them all without falling. They’d gotten ambitious this year, having seen old photos of water-skiing pyramids and studies circus acrobats, and the final pose had Sera and Dagna standing one on each of Bull’s shoulders, holding hands above his head, bodies leaning out from their combined grips. Bull was settled deep into a chair pose, favoring his bum leg just slightly, and Essa stood facing the same direction as him, feet on his thighs, weight on his good leg while he held her arms behind and she leaned out like ship’s figurehead. Everyone cheered as Merrill and Bethany snapped a million pictures. There was no way they’d beat that next year.

“Alright, chief,” Krem called. “Wrap this up, I got a date tonight and you and Essa have at least three suckers to drown.”

They were basically a sure win. Everyone knew it, but everyone also wanted a chance to take Essa and Bull down. He had a bum knee after all, and no matter how good her seat, Essa was too straightforward to be as good at the game as she was. Last year, Cari and Bela had come the closest to winning, but that was only because Essa’s sister was a splendid cheat. She had gone in on Bull’s blind side, caught the back of Essa’s knee right where she was most ticklish. The ensuing thrashing had nearly toppled them both.

“Who’s the date?” Essa asked as they all made their way to the water.

“It’s that singer isn’t it?” Bull rumbled appreciatively.

“Maaaarrryddeen.” That last was sung off-key by Sera. No one could turn a name into a taunt quite like she could.

“You could have brought her out,” Essa said, looping her arms with Krem and Bull.

Krem snorted. “Yeah, how’s that working out for you and—hey!”

Essa pinched him. “Does everyone think—?“

“Know,” Krem corrected. “And yes. Even Bethany. I assume she’s the one you think you’re keeping it from.”

“Fuck,” Essa groaned.

“Have you?” Bull asked with interested.

“Not yet,” Garrett sighed loudly, theatrically, as he fell in beside him. Essa leaned forward to flash him a grin around Bull’s fleshy pectorals. “Maker’s breath, I thought my half of the family was all up in one another’s business.”

“No secrets with this bunch, sweet thing.” Bela’s smirk was a bright, slick flash as she and Merrill passed. “But you’d better tell your sister.”

“I don’t need her permission,” Garrett squeaked, more indignant, Essa thought for the squeak than the sentiment.

“Except that you do,” she snickered. “Go on,” she nodded toward Fin and Bethany.  “May as well get it over with.”

“Really?”

Essa shrugged. “You really think it’ll be an easier conversation next week?”

She didn’t know what they were, but she knew what they weren’t, and that was casual.

“No.” His lips rose and Essa’s heart did an annoying little flip when he added, “I’m not talking to anyone but you next week.”

“It’s that bad,” Krem said smugly to Bull.

Essa punched him in the side as Garrett jogged off. “Probably worse,” she admitted, reaching to straighten his rash guard. “Definitely wait before you expose Maryden to this crew.”

“Will do.”

She and Bull were standing in hip deep water—well hip-deep on Krem—facing off against him and Sera when Bethany’s voice lifted in thunderous ire. Essa tried to get a clear line of sight, but Sera took advantage of her distraction, managed to get one hand tight around Essa’s wrist and one foot on the inside of Bull’s elbow. It wasn’t a move that was going to work, especially with the water making everyone harder to hang onto, but Sera was scrappy and she used every one of her opponent’s flaws to her advantage.

“Dammit, Bethany, stop it!”

Garrett’s voice was muffled by the line of spectators; Essa could tell from Fin’s grin that Bethany was a special kind of pissed. When Garrett came stumbling around Isabela and Merrill, Bethany was right behind him and thrashing him soundly with her beach hat.

“You had one rule, Garrett!” Bethany smacked him across the top of the head with her hat. There was laughter as Garrett threw one arm up, presumably protecting the ridiculous shades he was so fond of. “One, fucking rule!”

“It’s not like that. Bethany! Fucking, void-cursed—“

“Language!” Bethany hit him again and Sera caught a handful of the braid Essa had hastily thrown her hair into before the first match.

“Horns up, boss!”

Essa caught her braid at the back of her head and Bull pivoted smartly, yanking Sera and Krem forward and into Bulls elbow. There was a grunt and they toppled, but Essa barely noticed the splash as she righted herself on Bull’s shoulders, curling her legs back beneath his arms as she strained to hear over Krem and Sera’s cursing.

“Then what’s it like?” Bethany demanded.

Garrett mumbled something Essa couldn’t hear. Se squeezed Bull with her right calf, directing him in.

“Told you before, boss,” Bull chided mildly. “I’m not a horse.”

“If you were a horse,” Essa snipped with a laugh. “You’d be going faster and in the direction I want you to go in.” She was all but leaning forward trying to get him back to the shore.

“Fair enough.”

“Come on, Bull. I need to hear what’s going on.”

The water was at Bull’s shins now, a too loud tumble where the waves broke against the sand and gravel. If Bull’s strides hadn’t been longer, Essa would have already been on her feet.

“Say that again.”

Bethany’s face had gone pale and she had both hands on her hips; one hand was pointing imperiously at Essa. Garrett didn’t look so much browbeaten as obnoxiously pleased with himself.  When he spoke again it wasn’t much louder than the second time, but loud enough for Varric to hear. Essa watched his grin broaden as he leaned up to whisper in Merrill’s ear.

“What did he say?” Isabela asked.

“Did Hawke just go full on Ariel?” Sera boggled. She elbowed Dagna who parroted an impressively accurate “ _But, Daddy, I love him!”_

“I thought it was more of a Chandler moment,” Bull said, stopping beside Cullen and Cari.

“Oh,” Cari sighed dreamily. “That’s my favorite.”

“Except that I still can’t hear what’s going on!” Essa would have stomped her feet if she’d been on the ground. Of course if she was on the ground she’d have been closer. “Bull!”

Bull refused to move even as she dug in her heels. The words were being passed through every last one of them, like a game of telephone played in school, and they were taking their sweet time about it, even as Bethany and continued to have a terse conversation Essa couldn’t follow. She was trying to fight her way down from Bull’s shoulders when Cari’s face lit with a beatific smile. She gave Essa a wink as she lifted up on her toes to murmur in Cullen’s ear. He turned to Bull, laughter bright in his cheeks.

“You aren’t going to make me say it are you?”

“I’m not,” Bull chuckled. “But the boss might.”

“This is ridiculous,” Cullen huffed.

“It really is,” Essa grumbled in agreement.

Had Garrett just said he loved her? And to his pain in the ass sister, rather to her? Essa’s heart was hammering in her chest, her legs nearly useless, and Bull—the great ass—wasn’t being cooperative. She grabbed hold of his ear, twisted hard enough that he swore at her.

“If you don’t put me down I’m going to flip over your horns.”

She grabbed hold and leaned forward, fully intending to follow through on breaking Bull’s one rule while she was up there.

“Don’t you do it.”

There was a tussle. Somehow Essa wound up with one leg caught on one of Bull’s horns, hanging upside down. Facing out, thank the Maker. She was swearing up a streak, was trying to figure out just who all was laughing—because she was taking names, and there would be retribution—when she opened her eyes, found herself staring at Garrett’s belly button.

“Your friends are the worst,” he said, deep voice filled with laughter and chagrin.

Essa couldn’t decide whether to curl up or flip down, and later she would blame the position for how her heart crowded her throat. Bull had one ankle in a firm hold so that she didn’t land on her head, and the other arm was wrapped around her other thigh. She was pretty sure without his support, she’d have fallen.

“They’re half yours,” Essa retorted breathlessly. “And you’re the one who came back to Kirkwall to live near your shrew of a sister.”

“Hey!” Bethany and Fin yelled together.

“I’m the one hanging upside down here,” Essa pointed out. Surely that warranted a little name-calling.

“Down you go, boss.”

Bull let go of her ankle, let gravity pull her forward, until between the three of them she was safely on the ground, right side up and facing the right direction. Essa grunted something that she hoped sounded like thanks.

“Everyone’s laughing at us,” she said, turning until the only smirk she could see was Garrett’s. “And I don’t think I want to know why.”

She started to cross her arms beneath her breasts but Garrett reached for her, hands skimming her arms, raising goosebumps even as he gave her plenty of time to pull away.

“Easy now.” His smile was undeterred. “You look like you want to hit me more than Bethany did.”

“I might.” Essa scowled at him, took a step forward into his arms. “Depends on if you said what everyone’s pop culture references have me thinking you said.” She glowered at him. “Ariel.”

He ducked his head, sunglasses sliding down his nose to reveal eyes bright with laughter. Essa caught them before they fell.

“You did, didn’t you?” She thumped him in the chest with his glasses. “Dammit, Hawke.”

His grin was unabashed, impenitent, and she damn well loved him too, but he was not getting away with it that easily.

“I said,” he drawled slowly, licking his lips as if he were savoring something wonderful. “That I love you.”

Essa groaned. “You did not fucking tell me you love me for the first time in front of all our asshole friends.”

“Yeah, he did,” Sera crowed.

She hadn’t told him she loved him back, and by the Mabari she needed to, before he thought she didn’t.

“No,” Garrett returned drily. “I didn’t. Thankfully I waited until the kids were gone; I wasn’t expecting you to swear at me.”

Essa rolled her eyes, even as she twined her arms around his neck, fingers toying with his hair. There wasn’t much curl normally, but the water and the salt always gave him short beach waves, and she knew how much it flustered him when she ran her nails through them.

“Es…”

She grinned, pressed in closer, until they were flush against one another and Krem whistled.

“Your timing sucks, Hawke.”

“I was going to tell you tonight.”

He leaned in, nuzzled his cheek to hers, nose tracing the line of her jaw. She was melting in his arms now, damn him, body pressed so close she had to keep reminding herself that their asshole friends were standing three feet away.

“Telling me during sex would’ve been worse!” Essa glared up at him. Sonofabitch, she was blushing. “And also! We have not discussed public displays of affection!”

She took one stumbling step back, caught his elbow in a tight grip and dragged him farther up the beach toward some modicum of false privacy. Behind them, Isabela, Sera, and Varric booed.

“Bad form!” Varric shouted.

“I already told you, Storyteller!” Garrett shouted back. “You’re getting nothing!”

“Neither one of us has been able to think past our libidos all week,” Essa hissed, stopping when they were mostly out of earshot of their friends. “That’s not trustworthy!”

“I wasn’t going—!“ Garrett shot her a dirty look, clearly offended. “Before or after, dammit. I hadn’t decided yet!”

“Either would have been teerrrrrible!” Essa drew the word out. Her blush had moved from her face to her chest. By the mabari, she had to be beet red down to her feet by now. “I—“

She was stuttering, and Garrett’s frown turned suddenly thoughtful. “You’re not actually mad that I told you.”

“Of course I’m not mad.” She was about two steps from swooning and she was a little mad about that, but whatever.

“You’re not even mad that I told you in front of everyone.” His eyes narrowed, and Essa realized that it didn’t matter that she hadn’t told him she loved him. The fucker knew.

“Nooo…”

His cheeks were high and bright; she wouldn’t have thought anyone could smile so big. “You’re just mad because you love me too.”

“I—Yes! Alright!” She shot a glance back at Bethany. “And that you told me under duress.”

“My sister,” Garrett barely got the words past his laughter, “—as formidable as she is—is not enough threat to make me declare my love for someone in front of most of our closest friends.” He held out his hands. “Are you going to come here or not?”

Essa grinned, stepped forward so suddenly she all but tripped into his arms. “Just so we’re clear, I’m absolutely fine with public displays of affection, and if you embarrass them enough into leaving, I will let you pick first from the list.”

“Oh, really?”

He wrapped both arms around her waist, hauled her up on her toes until there wasn’t room for a breath between them. She was still nervous, which always made her cold. For once, he was warmer than she was, skin hot with the sun’s dubious blessing. Essa cuddled close even as she grumbled at him; she could feel his heart pounding against her breast, nearly as hard and fast as hers.

“Yes,” Essa nodded emphatically. “Really.”

“I love you,” Garrett said. “And I’ll tell you whenever you want me to. Whenever you feel that the words…that _I’m_ most trustworthy.”

“Garrett…”

Of course she trusted him. Essa reached up, placed curved one hand against his cheek. “You know that I trust you.”

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I can tell you tomorrow if you’d like.” He turned his face into her hand, placed a nibbling kiss to her palm. “Or next week, after our sex high wears off.”

Essa snorted. “You really think--?”

“Next month then,” he mumbled against her skin. There was another kiss, then a scrape of teeth to the thick muscle beneath her thumb. The evening was yet warm, but still Essa shivered. “Next year,” Garrett offered.

“Next year?”

“Next decade.”

“Garrett—” She could hardly form coherent words. “I didn’t think...”

They hadn’t talked about anything long term. Essa dropped her hand between them, fingers curling at the base of his throat, holding his pulse with reverent fingers.

“I’m not going anywhere unless you rehome me, Essa.” He dipped his head, nose brushing her chin, tipping her face up to his. “Ever. I’m as hopeless for you as your mabari, you do know that?”

Essa sucked in a shuddering breath. She had hoped, but no...she hadn’t quite known. Humans were different from mabari, and the part of her that tried to remember that had warned her it was far too soon for such bonds between them.

“Good.” She wasn’t going to cry; she’d had enough of that today, dammit. “Because I love you too.” And now it was done, truth shared beneath summer sun. “You’re the best roommate I’ve ever had.”

“Am I?”

His lips were so close to hers she all but taste his smile.

“Yes.”

Essa closed that scant distance with a sigh. He was the best parts of summer beneath so much heat. Laughter and secrets shared, cold beer, and crisp salt air. There was the wildness of the sea in his kiss, waves a ceaseless tumble, but there was sweetness too, ice cream shared on muggy nights, chocolate kisses eaten straight from the freezer. Garrett pulled her somehow closer, tilted his head so that she could taste more of him and there was a flash of something hotter, desire flaring brighter than any pepper she might grow in her garden.

“Don’t you dare tell Fin,” Essa muttered, breaking away with a little gasp.

“About the roommate thing?” Garrett asked, mischief in his hands and merriment in his eyes. “Or that you love me.” Her jerked his chin back toward their friends. “Because I think he knows.”

“Shut up, Hawke.”

He bumped her forehead with his. “Make me.”

 


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I promised fluffy smut or smutty fluff, and well...there's always room for more mayhem.

They didn’t quite make it to Kingsway. They certainly didn’t make it through what was possibly an ill-advised joint shower. Of course, Essa and Garrett had known that going in, but they’d been so impatient to get their hands on one another that their only practical considerations were for getting sand out of places— _“nothing is happening until there isn’t sand!” “I know! I still haven’t figured out how people have sex on the beach!”—_ and remembering to grab a condom from the medicine cabinet.

As first times went, it certainly wasn’t bad. Essa was quick to tell Garrett so once she could speak, as if she weren’t still lying in the bottom of the bathtub in a trembling heap of post-coital bliss.

“ _Not bad_?”

He sounded properly outraged but Essa wasn’t buying it. She mumbled something, but since she couldn’t quite make out the tongue-tied words herself, she doubted he could over rush of water in the sink.

By the Mabari, she felt amazing. There had been a lot of laughter, only a bit from nerves, and very little grace, but hands down a solid seven out of ten for all their haste. Maybe especially for their haste. Essa could barely move and she already wanted him again. Definitely not bad.

“We might both be a little out of practice,” Garrett grumbled as he shut the water off. “But you still came out ahead, Trevelyan.”

The shower curtain twitched back, a loud rattle of stainless rings on the bar overhead.  Garrett stood glaring down at her, stark naked and not one bit modest. Not that he had any reason to be. Not that she was going to tell him so just yet.

Andraste’s knickers, the man was a good lay and he was too damn pretty, all lovely muscles and smooth skin. Well, mostly smooth. His shoulders were still peeling from last week’s sunburn and he had quite a few scars she still needed to explore hidden beneath a fine scattering of dark hair that was surprisingly soft. There was a thicker trail beneath his belly button, one that she had every intention of following down with her lips and teeth and tongue just as soon as she could. For now, she stared up at him through the soft evening light, jealous of the sunlight and shadow that danced gold and umber across a body she was eager to learn better.

“Or am I wrong?” Garrett demanded, lips curving into a smirk when he caught her staring.

“Oh, you’re not wrong.” Essa grinned. “I definitely came out ahead. Biological advantage.” She waved one hand at him, more than a little surprised and entirely too amused at how lax her muscles were, how heavy her arm felt. Even in a rush the man had good moves. “Though you weren’t complaining two minutes ago,” she added.

Because that was important. She had given as good as she got, biology notwithstanding.

“I couldn’t speak two minutes ago.” Garrett grinned back. “You know they’re going to give us shit for this.”

He held one hand out to her. Essa considered pulling him back down into the bottom of the tub with her, but despite the large volume of the antique clawfoot, she was only comfortable because of the endorphins.

“Then they should have left with everyone else,” she retorted, letting him drag her slowly to her feet and up into his arms.

They were down to Varric, Bull, Sera, and Dagna, and history—along with booze consumption—suggested those jerks weren’t going anywhere until morning.  Essa had a firm no drinking and driving rule.

“They should have,” Garrett agreed. “Do you think it’s too late to sober them up?”

Essa laughed. “Bull was breaking out homemade wine Seanna left when we came in here,” she reminded him. “So probably.”

She stumbled a bit over the side of the tub, watched him smile when he caught her against his chest, damp skin to damp skin.

“Mmmmmm…this is good.”

“This is very good,” Garrett chuckled, breath stirring the wet tangle of her hair. His hands swept up the line of her spine leaving a trail of fire and goosebumps together. “You sure we can’t just hide in here all night?”

He nuzzled a kiss to her cheek and Essa clung to him, not at all upset that she was pressed against him, shoulder to knee, or that she couldn’t quite get feet up under her. Garrett held fast, steady, one arm firm around her waist, the other teasing and taunting, making promises they couldn’t keep yet.

“We can’t.”

She stretched in his arms, arching up into the curve of his body, reveling in the way they fit against each other. Perfectly. She hadn’t expected that, nor had she expected him to be so tactilely pleasing. Sexually, yes, but this was different. This was pure sensory enjoyment. Essa wasn’t sure if she would ever get enough of him.

“Maker, you feel good.”

“So do you.” Garrett’s hands spread wide at the flare of her hips, fingers flexing. He brushed a kiss to her temple, not quite chaste, not quite encouraging. “Almost too good.”

Essa understood the sentiment. As it was she was struggling to remember that they still had houseguests. She took a slow, deep breath, let it out in a slow stumbling against his neck.

“And you smell good too,” she whimpered, dropping her head back in exasperation, not caring that she was stalling and whining. “Why do you smell so damn good? You used my soap and you smell better than me!”

Garrett laughed.  “Pheromones?”

“That has to be it,” Essa huffed. It couldn’t be anything else. Certainly not just how besotted she was with the infuriating man. “You make me stupid, Garrett Hawke.”

“Now, that…”

He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the extension of her neck, tongue dashing gentle teeth down to her pulse. She wanted more from him than those careful touches. She wanted him as reckless as she felt, as reckless as she now knew they both could be. He caught the back of her head with one hand, strong fingers kneading the nape of her neck. Essa couldn’t quite stop the moan that echoed off of the ceiling tiles.

“That sounds awfully promising,” he whispered against her skin.

Just not right now.

Essa groaned. “We only have one bathroom.”

“So?”

The query was muffled against the top of her left breast. Essa shifted in his arms trying to give him better access. Garrett took her nipple between his lips, an incoherent sound of praise teasing that straining peak and for one white hot moment, Essa couldn’t think past the rasp of his tongue, the hard suction that followed. Fuck. Her eyes fell closed and then she was drowning in him, in the gentleness of the hand at her neck, in the firm clasp of the other at her back, in the wet urgency of his mouth on her breast. She was lost just that quickly, swept up in everything they’d had, and everything she still wanted from both of them.

“Garrett….”

Essa wasn’t certain if she was begging for more or for mercy. Her hands were in his hair, fingers carding through damp waves as she held him closer.

Definitely more.

“Oi!”

The shout was followed by a sudden pounding on the door, hard enough to rattle the oak on its hinges. Garrett released her, the sudden cessation drawing another whimper from Essa.

“There’s only one toilet in this place,” Sera shouted from the other side.

“So,” Garrett repeated without question this time, laughter in his voice as Essa lifted passion-heavy eyelids to glare at the door.

“So,” she murmured in agreement before Sera knocked again.

“Unless you want me peeing in your garden, Es, you two had better get out!”

“Dogs pee there all the time!” she shouted back. Sera made a sound of disgust and Essa sighed loudly. “Fine! We’re coming!”

“Didn’t ask for a play by play,” Sera hollered. “We could all hear that right enough.”

Of course they had.

“I didn’t think we were that loud,” Essa whispered furiously to Garrett.

“Well, _I_ wasn’t, but you…”

His grin was wide and there was no small amount of smugness in his dark eyes. He caught her lips in a long, languid kiss before she could swear at him.

“Later,” he promised.

His gaze swept down her body, lingering in an almost tactile caress.  Later seemed something of an impossibility when she couldn’t bring herself to leave him now. Essa grabbed a towel, keeping busy hands that were already reaching for him again. She wrapped it snug around her before she could give into the invitation in his eyes.

“What’s one more day?” she asked, laughing with him when the words emerged on a pout.

“Not even,” he said, reaching to tug on a lock of her hair. “I’m kicking them out first thing in the morning.”

“You’re my favorite person, Garrett Hawke.” She opened her mouth to add more, but he opened the bathroom door, stepping behind it as he gave her a shove out into the hall.

“Yeah, yeah,” Garrett called after her. “I know. Don’t tell Fin.”

The door closed behind her and Essa sagged back against it, ignoring the jovial disgust on Sera’s face.

“You luuvvvv him,” Sera sang as Essa only partially tried to wipe the grin from her face.

“Maybe.” How she managed it with a straight face, Essa would never know.

Sera snorted. “He’s getting an Ariel shirt for Satinalia,” she said, pitching her voice loud enough so that Garrett could hear her from the other side of the door.

“I’ll wear it too!” Garrett called back. “But Essa’s no prince.”

“No she’s not.”

Sera’s laughter was contagious, blue eyes bright with the sharing. Essa pulled herself up, sides aching with her own poorly contained guffaws. She made it two stumbling steps across the hall before Garrett opened the bathroom door and stepped out after her, wearing a ratty towel and an exultant grin.

“That’s my dragon.”

“Damn right she is,” Sera howled, clapping him on the back. “Es, you show him that thing with the smoke yet?”

Garrett’s eyes widened with interest and Essa covered her face with her hands. They had talked about her magic. He had even seen her cast, soothing and healing, on a cut Caleb managed to get on his paw the week before, but this was different. This was magic for nothing more than laughter and pleasure. She couldn’t fill up one hand with the number of people before whom she had been so bold.

“Not yet.”

Sera folded her arms at her waist. “But you will.”

“Yeah.” Essa laughed helplessly. “I’m sure I will.”

Garrett was watching her carefully and she wanted nothing more than to grab him, to drag him into her room and shut the door behind them.

“Sera?”

“Yeah?”

“Didn’t you need the bathroom?”

“UGH!” Sera huffed. “Fine.”

She shoved past Garrett, stomped into the bathroom, arms flailing. The door banged shut with a resounding thud.

“So, you’re a fire breather, Trevelyan?” His grin was pure flirtation. “You gotta know what that does to me.”

Essa laughed. “Then I’d better save it for something special, hadn’t I?”

“I’m something special.”

Damn right he was. Essa caught her bottom lip between her teeth, shook her head when her grin threatened to burst free anyway.

“Damn right you are. Ariel.” She paused thoughtfully. “Maybe I should make you sing for it.”

“Be careful what you wish for.” Garrett smirked. “I grew up with a kid sister, you know. I probably still remember the songs.”

“Oh, I am definitely going to need a performance.”

“Sera!” Essa called loudly toward the bathroom while Garrett waited with interest.

“Yeah!?”

“Two words: Disney Karaoke!”

“OH, FUCK YES!” Sera screamed. The sink ran and then suddenly Sera was storming out of the bathroom, hands still wet, grin a mile wide as she beat feet through the cottage. “Dagna! Get the karaoke machine out of the car.”

“Al’right, Trevelyan. You’re on. But if I sing for you, I want to see some magic tricks.”

*

According to the bright green numbers of the microwave clock, August was officially behind them, and yet, since their afternoon shower, Essa and Garrett had barely managed a single moment alone, much less a moment alone together. Garrett didn’t want to admit that it was probably a good thing. He wasn’t entirely certain he and Essa would make the best decisions if let alone for longer than the thirty seconds it took them to get out of their clothes.

Which was precisely why they were courting danger now.  

“It’s finally Kingsway.”

Essa stood in the middle of the dark kitchen, wearing the navy cotton dress she’d had on that morning and—unless Garrett missed his guess—not a stitch else.  Outside the bonfire had burned low, but the fire barrel was still close enough to the back porch for shadows to flicker over the kitchen. Essa’s cheeks were gilded bright, eyes deep in shadow, and for a moment Garrett could only stare at the darker curves of her silhouette. Her hair had come down from the knot she’d twisted in earlier and it was still a little wet from their shower. He couldn’t think of much beyond tangling his hands in that long, unruly fall, unless it was pulling her head back just a little, placing kisses to her throat. Garrett hadn’t learned much about what she liked and didn’t like—not this soon, not so fast—but he knew she loved his teeth against her pulse. She had come apart like a flash the last time, orgasm so bright she’d nearly taken them both to the bottom of the tub.

“Shouldn’t there be fireworks or something?”

“I could probably get my hands on few sparklers,” she quipped softly, nodding to the door behind him. “If you want to chance my going back out there.”

“Don’t you dare.”

After a rather insane hour of Disney Karaoke—Garrett had sung not one but _three_ Disney songs, only one of which was from _the Little Mermaid_ —the night had turned slow and lazy. Bull and Varric were watching the fire from camp chairs, arguing ethics and morality—no, they absolutely were not the same thing—while Dagna and Sera sprawled on a quilt with the dogs, laughing and talking, voices rising and falling over nonsense and philosophy while Sera’s endless summer playlist rioted in the background. They were the last of the hangers-on, and Essa had warned him earlier in the day, that they usually spent the night.

“I’ve almost gotten them to sleep,” Garrett continued.

The moons were high and everyone was slowing down after a full day in the sun and the surf. They were finally to the nodding off phase and had sent Garrett in for the last round of beers.

Thank the Maker.

“Last call?” Essa asked hopefully.

She was holding both hands behind her back, and Garrett realized she was all but bouncing on the balls of her bare feet.

“I think so.” He took the last steps between them. “What are you up to, Trevelyan?”

“It’s the first day of Kingsway,” she repeated, lips trembling as she fought a grin.

Essa slowly brought her hands around before her.

“Is that a…?” Garrett was grinning too hard to continue, laughter filling his chest until it was he could barely keep it in check behind his teeth.  

“Celebratory sex cupcake?” Essa finished cheerfully; she waggled her brows at him. “Yes it is. I would have brought it out earlier, but I’m not sharing with anyone but you.”

She held the cupcake proudly on the flat of her palm. Garrett couldn’t make out much beyond the single candle sticking out of the top, but he could smell chocolate and sugar and berries. A compromise then, a blend of both their favorites, and perfect for the melding. He still had no idea what he had done to get so lucky.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re the perfect woman?”

Essa’s laughter was sudden, not a little mocking.

“I had no idea you could be so easily bribed with baked goods.” She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks rose higher, smile impossibly broad, and Garrett had to fight every impulse not to drag her into his arms, kiss her until her laughter became something richer,  darker. “This isn’t even homemade.”

“Oh, well…” He reached out, dragged his knuckles lightly down her bicep. “That’s different then. I retract my hastily offered superlative.”

Essa snorted. “Fucker.” She kicked at him with one foot and Garrett smirked. “Do you want the cupcake or not?”

“Oh…” He made a show of looking at her as he licked his lips. “I definitely want the cupcake.”

She kicked him again, harder this time, but still not hard enough to hurt. When she settled back on her feet she was standing close enough that he could taste the coconut  body butter she used scenting the air around her. The inside of one foot pressed the outside of his, toes stroking in a distracting sweep. Garrett had never had a foot fetish, but Andraste’s ass, everything about the woman was worth targeted attention.

“I hate you a little bit,” Essa sighed.

Garrett couldn’t remember reaching for her, but his hands were beneath her elbows. The long skirt of her dress brushed against his legs. Outside the music slid from southern swamp rock to something quieter, something dark blue and sultry and decades old.

“I know you do.” He leaned in slowly, forehead bumping hers. His hands found the subtle sway of her hips, and Garrett moved gently with her, not quite dancing with the music. Beneath the coconut lingering, she smelled like salt and sun. “Does that mean I can’t have the cupcake?”

Essa’s lips twitched. “I suppose…” she drew the syllables out, lips so close to his he could feel their heat.  “I could always make you wait until _after_ we’ve had sex again…you know properly—

“’ _Properly’_?!” Garrett glared down at her in mock affront. They’d been catching grief all night for their far too brief stint in the shower. Essa was hardly complaining, and neither was he, but Garrett knew they would laugh for years about quickly they had come undone in each other’s arms.

“—but I have, like, eleven more,” Essa continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “hidden in the crisper underneath enough celery to deter even Sera.”

She leaned forward then, lips pursed as though she might kiss the wick of the candle.  A thin tendril of magefire flared in the dip of her lower lip, blue quickly cooling to warm gold, gilding her face in brighter light and deeper shadow as that spark leapt from her mouth to the candle.

“You gonna make a wish?” she asked.

It was the first time she had cast in front of him so casually and Garrett wanted to kiss her for her courage as much as for the laughter that sparkled in her grey eyes. He wanted to tell her that he had gotten his wish, one he hadn’t even realized he had made, but there was a time for such earnest confessions and a time for play. He didn’t mind clinging to the latter until they had the place all to themselves.

“No.”

Garrett turned his face from her in feigned affront. He caught her empty hand in his, sent her out from him in a slow turn. When she came back in, her back was to him. Garrett wrapped their arms around her waist, pulling her back so tight that he could feel every soft curve, every hard ripple of muscle, and no, she wasn’t wearing a damn thing under that cotton jersey.

He placed a kiss to her neck. “My ego has been sorely wounded,” he declared, nipping at her skin. “Your magic cupcake is not going to be enough to—“

“Oh really?” Essa interrupted. She glanced back him as the music took on a heavier, slower beat. Her hips moved in time with the music, slow, sinuous, until he couldn’t think much beyond wanting her. “Not even double chocolate with chocolate buttercream, raspberry ganache inside.”

“Not even,” he decided. He couldn’t believe she was passing on the “magic cupcake” part of his comment, but Garrett had a feeling she would get him for that one later. He let go of her hand, caught her hips in his and pushed forward against her, no pretense of dancing this time. “We both know that’s not the cupcake I want.”

Even in the low light, he didn’t miss the sudden blush on her neck.  Essa turned in his arms. She held the cupcake light, but her other hand was in his hair, fingers scratching delicious eddies against his scalp. Her breasts were firm against his chest, her scowl a thing of honest beauty.

“We are not.” She sounded serious, but there was mischief in her grey eyes, lust too. “Calling it. a cupcake.”

“Are you sure?” Garrett feinted as if to kiss her, dodged at the last possible second to swipe the cupcake from her palm. “Not even a _magic_ cupcake?”

“Not. Even.”  

She put enough space between their chests to make an effective grab, but she missed, and she had to have missed on purpose.  Garrett knew damn well how fast she was; he’d seen her at the punching bags they kept in the barn.

“Oh, no.” He tsked at her, keeping his other arm firm around her waist as he held the cupcake just out of reach. Essa leaned back against his hold, pressing their hips together, smile broadening when he groaned at the very effective distraction. “I think—“ Garrett cleared his throat, nearly lost his words to laughter when she gave him a knowing look. “I think you need to consider the…similarities.”

He brought the cupcake to his lips, careful of the burning candle. He stared through the meager firelight as he licked a slow swath of chocolate buttercream from one side of the spiraling mound. Essa’s eyes narrowed, glower not quite hiding the sudden dilation of her pupils.

“I hate you,” she groaned, finally snatching the cupcake from him and leaning away to set it on the table beside them. “I thought I was doing a nice thing with the cupcake.”  She swatted his arm. “And the magic.”

“We can do all sorts of nice things with the cupcake,” Garrett assured them both, dragging her back into his arms. “And the magic. You can make a list just for them.”

She was laughing when he kissed her, and she swore at him even as she pressed closer, teeth and tongue stealing joy even as she returned it countless times over.

“I’ll hold you to that,” she murmured against his mouth, catching whatever snark he might have mustered with greedy lips.

“Please do.”

Her arms twined fast around his neck, anchoring them together. Garrett lifted her feet from the floor, began backing her toward the narrow wall between the den and the kitchen. He wanted her, now—yesterday, forever—wasn’t sure how to tell her or even if he should try yet. Even now, caught up in the moment, it was about so much more than sex.

“Es?”

“Hmmmm?”

“Thank you.” He didn’t say for what, trusting her to know, as she always seemed to lately, exactly what his heart was holding.

Essa smiled softly. “Well, I owed you for that truly terrible rendition of _Kiss the Girl_.”

“Yes, you did.” He dropped a kiss to each of her cheeks, dropped another to the corner of her lips, teasing, taunting, drawing out the merriment between them as they stood, not quite dancing in the shadowed kitchen.  

“Garrett?”

“Hmmm?”

“Have I told you how terrible your timing is?”

Her eyes were closed, and her breathing had fallen into hot, shallows pants. Her hands moved restlessly over his neck, shoulders, back; she sounded anything but annoyed.

“Are you still going on about that whole ‘I love you’ thing?” Garrett tried, and failed, to keep a straight face; Essa opened her eyes with a smile. “Because I’m not sure that I meant it. I had been out in the sun all day and…”

Garrett brushed his lips across hers, quick and teasing. He was expecting retaliation, a pinch, a pop, but Essa sighed heavily instead, shoulders sagging in defeat as he pushed her back against the wall.

“I know.” She shook her head, face a flat mask he knew better than to believe. “Me too.  All I’ve been able to think about is getting you naked…” She stretched against him, wanton, brazen, every bit the temptation she was trying to be. “I’d have said anything too.”

“So you didn’t mean it either?” He trailed his hands down her sides, fingertips angled so that his short nails dragged down the seams of her dress. The cotton was thin and soft, and he’d have considered tearing the thing off of her if he didn’t know how much she loved it.

“Not a word.” Her hands were beneath his shirt, fingers tugging at the waistband of his shorts. “I just wanted you out of these.”

Her hands nearly spanned the width of his hips, long fingers sweeping beneath his shorts and the waistband of his briefs beneath, leaving a trail of shivering gooseflesh behind.

“Ass.” Garrett’s hands slid to the wide flare of her hips then back to cup the body part in question, lifting her off of the wall as he thrust forward slowly. “I’ve told you how perfect it is, haven’t I?”

Maker strike him down if he’d been so remiss.

Essa giggled. “You have.” She nodded toward the top of the refrigerator where their calendar was currently hidden, along with the list of sex positions they’d been teasing one another with for weeks. “No few of your suggestions seem…unduly focused on it.”

“’Unduly?” He squeezed harder this time, canting her hips up so that she ground against his cock. A small moan escaped her, and Garrett repeated the motion.

“Laundry room,” Essa groaned. Now.”

“What?” Garrett blinked down at her.

“It’s the last room they’ll check.” She brushed her knuckles across the head of his cock and Garrett’s breath caught. “I figure we have…another ten minutes.”

Fuck. She was serious. “Please tell me you don’t think that’s plenty of time.”

“For us?”

There was something especially sweet in the way she shaped that last word, lips and gaze rising soft even as she continued to tease him, one brow lifting in demand. When Garrett nodded, she grinned.

“No. Not even close. We need days, weeks…” She leaned up on her toes, caught his bottom lip in her teeth, worried it until he groaned into mouth, until she soothed the bright heat with her tongue and released him. “I think you may have even said something about years?”

“Something like that.”

“Good.” Her smile went crooked for just a moment. “Because it’ll probably take me that long to get used to this whole relationship thing.”

“Same.” Sex was easy. It seemed especially easy with Essa, and he told her so even as he began backing her toward the laundry room.  

“Really?”

“Yes. Really.” He was still learning to let himself be happy, still accepting what he had found here in Essa’s cottage by the sea, and he knew she understood, knew that they would be patient with each other, that they would build something stalwart and joyful between them. “But I’m game if you are, Trevelyan. We can use sex and cupcakes for positive reinforcement.”

Essa’s laughter was a full-throated rumble, and Garrett couldn’t stop himself from pressing kisses to her neck, tasting that levity along with the sudden rush of her pulse.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Hawke.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This (mostly) concludes Heatwaves. I have some extras to add, two pieces that were written for #sexlaughterhonesty week, as well as a new piece that couldn't be included in the epilogue but is still something rather nice I think. I plan to post another one shot in mid-September, then maybe some stuff during the holidays, but the bulk of the story arc is complete. 
> 
> A huge thank you to everyone who has read and cheered me on. This was a great little summer romance I think and while I could definitely write another 50k of them exploring what it means to be together, I have every faith in their ability to build strongly upon this foundation. Hiatus calls!:D


	7. Halfway There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a scene that I had to cut from the epilogue once I realized I was writing an entire other plot and not just an epilogue. It was too cute to waste though. There may be some slight repetitions from the epilogue as this falls between the two fluffy scenes of it. Unedited, but not too bad?

The backyard was almost back to normal when Garrett stepped outside. Fin had taken the tent back to the rental center in Kirkwall along with the tables and folding chairs, leaving behind the food table and Essa’s long picnic table. Their guest list had dwindled down from nineteen to four, and Essa had already warned him that Bull, Sera, and Dagna always spent the night. Varric was staying too this year, and Garrett suspected it was as much for a good story as because he wanted to spend more time with his best friend.

Not that Garrett really blamed him. There was plenty of story—he was still sifting through the tangled plotlines that had brought him so far from where he had been—but he wasn’t certain he was ready to share it with anyone but Essa just yet.

“You look awfully…” The pause was deliberate. Varric wasn’t often at a loss for words, and Garrett doubted he was now. Garrett lifted his brows as Varric joined him on the back steps. He finally settled on, “pensive. Especially for a man who just—“

“Don’t,” Garrett interrupted Varric with a chuckle. “Don’t finish that.”

It was either going to be a crack about his and Essa’s bathtub antics, or about Hawke declaring his love like some sixteen year old Disney heroine. He had earned both, but he wasn’t quite ready for either.

“Alright, alright.” Varric’s appeasement was only a little patronizing. He folded his arms across his chest, said nothing as loudly as he sat down on the back steps beside Garrett. “You want to talk about it?”

“About what?”

He wasn’t being deliberately difficult. There wasn’t much to say.

“Whatever has you lurking over here by yourself?”

“I’m not lurking.” Garrett jerked his head back toward Pepper.

“You are.” Varric nodded toward Essa. She was standing by the fire barrel she had set up on the outer edge of the garden. It was a safe distance from the back door, but close enough to the harvested plots that she could burn the bulk of crop residue.  “So is she. Es is just more of an introvert than you, so she’s more subtle about it.“

Garrett snorted. “Yeah, real subtle.”

She had put Bull to hauling over some of the scrap lumber from the barn that couldn’t be reclaimed or reused. She had been calling orders to him for the better part of the last ten minutes and he was obliging even as he grumbled about being used for his muscles. Caleb had taken an instant like to Bull and he was scampering back and forth from the stable right along with him, a puppy sized piece of wood in his teeth.

“And I’m not by myself,” Garrett added. “I’m keeping Pepper company.”

She wasn’t hiding on the back porch—and neither was he, dammit—but she was watchful, head up, ears forward, not yet certain about the howling laughter from the women in the yard. Garrett thought maybe he understood. Even now, he was caught between old memories and memories yet forging.

He had never expected so much goodness in his life.

“She’s ruining you,” Varric mused cheerfully. “You used to be a better liar.”

Garrett shook his head. “There was a time when I wasn’t much of one at all.” He reached over, swiped Varric’s beer from the step beside him. He took a short swig before he passed it back. “Can you believe that, storyteller?”

The sun was finally setting, and the evening smelled of wood smoke and nostalgia, a crackle of vegetation burning, a hint of rain from a storm that lay not so distant over the Waking Sea.  Essa’s fire barrel was tetanus waiting to happen, a rusted out fifty gallon drum that took Garrett back to his childhood outside of Lothering, to bonfires at the barn after his father and his crew had pulled a long week in the fields. Cheap beer and restless music, the timeless anger of the working class distilled into southern rock and outlaw country.  Malcolm had always sworn that farming was honest work, and that he was ill-suited to it, but Garrett had loved it, had seen some sort of future for himself there until his father died.

“Dad would have loved her.”

The words were out before he could stop them, and for one heartbeat Garrett wished he could call them back. There was too much in that single statement, but probably no more than Varric already knew.

“I think you’re right,” Varric murmured, stretching his legs out on the step before him.

Garrett still wasn’t quite certain how he had gotten from there to here. It seemed like only yesterday that he was back on the farm feeling too small beside his father, then too great a reminder beside his mother in Malcolm’s absence.  Another yesterday he had been rambling lost across Ferelden, picking up odd jobs and avoiding Templars, trying too hard to love someone who didn’t want him to. He had spent his entire life either too much or not enough.

But not here.

“I don’t know why that matters,” Garrett admitted.

But it did.

His father hadn’t been perfect, but he had loved his children, had only ever wanted their safety and happiness, and never the former at the expense of the latter.

“Your mother would have hated her,” Varric said so mildly that Garrett laughed. He passed Garrett the beer he had been sipping on.

“That is the understatement of the evening, my friend.” Essa glanced at him from across the yard and he lifted the beer in a toast, watched her grin curve quick and easy. “But Mom would have hated Fin too, and I can’t imagine anyone else loving Beth so much.” He took a long drink.  “They’d have grown on her though.”

Varric laughed softly. “They do have that effect.”

Garrett toasted Varric with his own beer, drank down half of what was left before passing it back to him again. Varric finished the rest, then leaned back on his hands. Garrett took a deep breath, let out some of the tension he always picked up when he talked about his parents. The cottage was quiet behind them, the yard filled with laughter and Sera’s end of summer playlist, which was an unsurprising mix of all-girl punk and indie bands with few front-woman led rock groups and…Jon Bon Jovi? He wouldn’t have pegged Sera for a fan, but then, he wouldn’t have accused Essa either until he’d heard her screaming along with “Wanted Dead or Alive” on their way to Battens one afternoon.

“Turn it up!” Sera screeched. “That’s my girl’s song!”

In this case, Essa was “her girl.” Dagna hit the volume and Essa danced away from the drum, Sera singing the unmistakable “wha-ohs” as the song began to take off.

“ _Tommy used to work on the docks!_ ” There was extra energy in the song, and Essa threw herself into the lyrics right along with Sera. “ _Union’s been on strike. He’s down on his luck, it’s so tough!_ ”

“ _It’s so tough!_ ” Dagna joined in. That she had a fair voice only made the cheerful accompaniment worse.

“ _Gina works the diner all day. Working for her man, she brings home her pay, for love.”_

Essa caught Garrett watching her and grinned, wide, unabashed. She pointed to Dagna.

“ _For love!”_

The comparison was undeniable.

“Fuck,” Garrett laughed. “She really can’t sing can she?”

“No.” Varric grinned. “She can’t dance either, but she will.”

“ _We gotta hold on to what we got! It doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not!”_  Essa sang—screamed—sticking her tongue out at Bull as he sidestepped her with an obvious wince on his way to add wood to the fire.  She pointed to Sera.

“ _We got each other, and that’s a lot.”_

Sera pointed at Dagna. “ _For love! We’ll give it a shot.”_

“Have you ever met anyone as comfortable in their own skin as Essa?”

Varric’s sigh was mostly laughter. “Just you, Hawke. On your best days.”

 _“Whoa!!!!!”_ the trio shrieked. Essa caught Bull before he could get away, not that he looked like he was trying, and the ladies dragged him in on the chorus. “ _We’re halfway there. Whoa-oh! Livin’ on a prayer! Take my hand!”_ She reached across the yard, fingers wiggling. “ _And we’ll make it I swear_!”

Before he knew it he was on his feet and walking toward her. When the rest of them hit the last line, Garrett did too.

“ _Whoa-oh! Living on a prayer!_ ”

“You deserve each other,” Varric called.

He was teasing of course, implying that they were both equally ridiculous, and Garrett wasn’t the least bit bothered, but Essa’s eyes narrowed. She knew he struggled with deserving. She caught his hand as he drew close, dragged him to her side and wrapped one arm around his waist.

“Damn right we do,” she yelled back at Varric. He toasted her with the last swallow of his beer and Garrett watched her smile. “Hey,” she added softly, leaning over to murmur beneath the music. “You know that right?”

Garrett nodded. “I’ll get there.” He bussed a quick kiss to Essa’s cheek as Sera, Dagna, and Bull continued murdering the second verse.

“Good.” She kissed him back. “Me too.”

_Whoa! We’re halfway there…_


	8. Everyday is Kissing Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kissing Day (my totally made up Thedas holiday) falls on the second Saturday of Kingsway (basically halfway between All Soul’s Day and Satinalia). No one knows how the day started, though there is some suspicion by the more jaded that it was an advertising stunt for a Lowtown bakery hoping to generate business during a particularly poor sales period. The earliest observations of the day were simple: sweet treats and sweet kisses, iced cookies in the shapes of hearts and lips, pastries thick with vanilla and a little cinnamon heat. It didn’t take long before the flower vendors were looking to cash in, and then the bards. Soon there was a song in every tavern about the lovers’ day.
> 
> Essa and Garrett's first Kissing Day falls very shortly after the end of Heatwaves (you'll recall that the first day of Kingsway was circled on their calendar lol). So have some fluff.

Essa Trevelyan hated Kissing Day. Really, she bore most major holidays uncommon malice and with good reason. Growing up, holidays had been a special kind of blight, when her biological family’s dysfunctions went from a low background rumble of occasional disruption to directly affecting the life she had carefully carved out for herself with the help of her mother’s turncoat mabari, Fin, his father, and a dozen or so of the Trevelyans’ prized horses. She supposed she should have been grateful that they had left her to her own for so much of her life, or rather—just like their expensive coursers—they had left her to Rance Larkson’s capable care, but most of the time and with the notable except of her sister, Cari, Essa just wanted to pretend they didn’t exist.

Until she went away to college, holidays had made that impossible. Her parents might not have cared about the reality of a healthy, happy family, but they damn sure wanted the Trevelyans picture perfect for their holiday cards and important social events. Every year—every First Day, Summerday, Kissing Day, and Satinalia—Essa had been dragged out of the stables and thrown into a day of washing, clipping, styling, facials, and mani-pedis with her mother and sister. Once that particular blight was over, she had been stuffed, or badgered once she was too old to physically coerced, into a dress and shoes and makeup she would have never chosen for herself.  

She had hated every solid minute of it.

“Your coffee is boiling,” Garrett said mildly, reaching across the kitchen table to lay his hand over hers.

The morning was perfect, a soft slant of sunlight, a hint of fall in the cool salt breeze coming through the open windows. Outside the dogs were chasing late summer butterflies, Caleb barking happily in an urgent attempt to convince the older dogs that _this butterfly_ was something new and amazing. _So amazing._ Not an hour ago, Essa had woken to a watercolor dawn, cool cotton sheets,  and the smile of her heart’s desire.

The morning was perfect, but she was fuming.

“Fin and Bethany warned me you don’t like Kissing Day.” Garrett laced their fingers together, pressing her palm to the tabletop, steading, grounding.

“Don’t like” was putting it a little mildly, but Essa was a rational enough woman; she knew it wasn’t the holiday itself, not entirely.

“Hate might be a better word,” she admittedly quietly, clinging to the offered touch.

Essa had her other hand wrapped tightly around an enameled steel coffee mug, the same mug he had given her just yesterday, an impulsive gift grabbed down at Battens ahead of the upcoming weekend’s festivities. The black and white flecked black background was relatively standard in camp dishes, of which the general store boasted no few, but the single bright red heart on the side heralded the holiday she loathed near to excess. She and Garrett had already talked a little about it. The commercialization of love and romance were bad enough, and those alone would have been reasons for Essa to boycott the blasted day, but she also had her personal baggage.

Too much personal baggage.

He was seeing that firsthand now, and all it had taken was him bringing in yesterday’s mail.

Essa sighed through her nose, focused on the cool press of his hand to hers. The holiday card from her parents had arrived with an invitation to the Trevelyan’s annual Kissing Day ball. Essa hadn’t attended in years, but the invitations kept coming, usually mailed far too late for her attendance to be likely, her mother’s passive aggressive way of reminding Essa how she continued to fail a family that didn’t want her anyway. Joke was on her though, Essa’s sister wouldn’t be attending this year either. Cari had finally found the love and support she needed to start breaking away from Miranda’s emotional abuse.

“Gotta say,” Garrett added, squeezing her fingers, calling her back with a flirtatious wink that was only a little forced. “You’re fucking hot when you’re angry.”  

He was worried, or he wouldn’t have gone for the easy pun. Essa snorted, accepting the exchange of laughter for the gift that it was as she let a stream of smoke escape one nostril. The trick took considerable concentration, but it always made him smile. The man was dragon obsessed and damn near adorable with it. They had been a couple for only a few weeks now and already she had a dragon tshirt, a dragon scale coffee mug, and a pair of socks knitted to look like dragon scales.

“They warned me that it’s your favorite holiday,” Essa replied, taking another slow breath. “I’ve promised to try to be a good sport this year.”

She wasn’t always. Last year she had gifted Fin and Bethany with a bed and breakfast weekend rather than endure the holiday celebrations at the cottage, but this was Garrett’s home too. Maker willing it would be his home always; she wanted him to be happy here, and that included holidays, especially favorite holidays.

“So what are we talking?” It wouldn’t be anything like what she had grown up with, she promised herself. “Cookies, cupcakes, a kissing ball in the doorway?”

Essa let go of her cup, pushed the too-hot steel away from them both before tapping one fingertip to the lower edge of the card. It was the first without their children and Miranda and Wulfe Trevelyan were playing up the lady and lord of Trevelyan Manor, standing with a pair of coursers Essa didn’t know before a postcard display of pasture and barn. There was just a touch of fall in the foliage, and the horses—a matched set of golden duns—were shining like bronze and wearing bright red halters that perfectly coordinated with Miranda’s red sweater and plaid skirt. They looked happy.

But then they usually did.

The photographs had always been dreadful—glossy and cold, perfectly staged in front of whatever understated holiday appropriate display Miranda had ordered for the monstrous fireplace in the formal dining room or the library or the newly redone fountain in the center garden—but the parties were the worst. Frightfully dull affairs with overpriced boozed, overinflated egos, and overplayed chamber music while Miranda and Wulfe Trevelyan tutted among their equally dull peers bragging about their horses and their children in equal measure and with equal ignorance.

They could quote pedigrees and achievements— _Mathieu is at the military academy in Val Royeaux, didn’t you know?_ Oh, yes, he’s templar tract. Cari? She’s quite the philanthropist, very involved with the Chantry, yes, we’re so proud. That new courser, Aradel, she’s quite the showman, lines that go all the way back to the Dragon Age, sired by Gerald of Diarmont—but Essa would have eaten her ugly shoes if either her mother or father knew how Aradel favored her left hock in bad weather or how she was afraid of frost. She doubted they knew why Cari had spent so much time at the Chantry, and if they had known anything at all about Mathieu they’d have had him in a mental health facility, not training for a war that had been over for centuries.  As for Essa, they didn’t know a damn thing about her beyond the ribbons she had won competing with their prized horses: not her favorite food, nor her favorite color, and certainly not about the asshats that had given her constant grief at school, or how hard Rance and Fin had worked to help her with her homework each night because the posh private school she attended wouldn’t accept her learning differences.

Kissing Day had been all of that plus dancing, and it had gotten worse as she got older. Paraded around in front of a ballroom filled with strangers, expected to let “eligible young men” put their hands on her waist and spin her around beneath crystal chandeliers while they prattled on about their own accomplishments and stared at her breasts. They were nice breasts, so she couldn’t blame them there, probably wouldn’t have if they’d been remotely interested in a single thought rattling around in her head and not just a trophy.

“Es?” Garrett squeezed her fingers again. His dark eyes were serious as she met his gaze across the table. She wondered how much of his reply she had missed. “We don’t have to do anything this weekend.” His smile was crooked, but coaxing. “For all I care, we spend tomorrow watching bad movies and making out on the couch.”

Essa picked up the card, held it over the saucer left empty from her breakfast, and slowly eased the tight hold she was keeping on her magic. Boiling coffee notwithstanding, her magic rarely escaped her discipline. She let a single tongue of flame touch the edge of the card.

“No—“ Essa grinned when his brows lifted. “Well, yes. I think that sounds perfect, but—“ She held her breath, waiting for the picture to melt and char, watching ash fall on pretty blue and yellow porcelain. “—it’s your favorite holiday.”

“You’re my favorite holiday,” he returned easily, grin lifting toward something full and true now that her past was no longer marring the quiet between them.

“Ass.” She rolled her eyes, stretched her fingers out and let her magic and temper cool.

“Yes.” Garrett tugged on her hand; Essa let him drag her from her chair and into his arms. “I’m sorry about your parents.”

“My parents should be sorry about my parents,” she retorted, slinging one leg over his and straddling his lap. And she should be sorry for dwelling on the dumpster fire that they were instead of enjoying the wonderful, loving man sitting in her kitchen— _their_ kitchen—trying to make her smile. “But thank you for understanding.”

He settled her close, his hands resting heavily on her hips.  Essa wrapped her arms around his neck, threaded her fingers into dark, sleep tousled waves, tugging on the wink of silver he’d found at his temple the week before. It was a single hair, but he was absurdly proud of it. Said he hadn’t expected to live long enough to ever see one.

She understood that a little too well.

“We can do as much or as little as you want,” he told her. “I’m hardly opposed to this new normal we’ve been working on.”

Essa laughed finally—by the Mabari, she loved the impossible man—and he caught her face in his hands, dragged her down for a kiss as scorching as her magic, if only a little safer. Their new normal wasn’t even two weeks old and—when they weren’t at work or down on the beach with the dogs—mostly consisted of sex and/or snuggling under some pretense of watching movies or playing video games.

“Nope.” Essa broke their kiss with a shake of her head, brushed another, then another, in recompense to the dimples that rose with his smile. They were mostly hidden by his beard, but she liked reminding him that she knew they were there. “I’ve been told that no one celebrates Kissing Day like the Hawkes.”

And really, she was tired of losing so much to her parents’ neglect and abuse. She was luckier than most. She had been given so much love in her life despite them, and the life that she had made for herself, the life that she was still making for herself, was so far beyond their reach.

“Fin says I’d be a fool to pass up the treatment.” She tightened her thighs at his hips and leaned back, arms spread wide to the morning. “So let me have it, Hawke.”

Garrett’s smile broadened, his grip at her hips tightening to balance her weight. For a single breathless heartbeat, she thought he was going to let the double entendre go.

“Oh, you can have it anytime you want it, Trevelyan.” He lifted his hips to rub against her in invitation.

“I had you pretty thoroughly not half an hour ago,” she reminded him.

He had gotten up before her—a rarity there—and after he had let the dogs out, had brought her her first cup of coffee in bed.  She had let most of it get cold while rewarding him, well…rewarding _them,_ though she still didn’t know what she had done to deserve anything they were finding together.

“Yeah you did.”  His grin was smug. “Do I have time to return the favor before you head to work?”

Essa mostly made her own hours, but she kept them strictly. She glanced at the clock on the microwave.

“You have _exactly_ twenty minutes.”

“I can do a lot with twenty minutes.” His hands were already dragging at the tshirt she had won from him years ago. He pulled the shirt over her head, leaned forward to place a warm, slow kiss to the base of her throat. “By this time tomorrow, you’re going to love kissing day.”  His teeth scraped over one collarbone, and he pressed his next vow to her stumbling pulse. “I promise.”

“You really think you can manipulate me with sex?” she teased, more than willing to let him try.

Garrett’s chuckle was a puff of damp heat against her sternum; he placed a nearly chaste kiss to each of her breasts. “I’m convincing, not manipulating.”

Essa arched into his touch. “I’ll allow it.”

~❤~

Garrett had a three-pronged assault planned for his and Essa’s first Kissing Day weekend and no, he wasn’t currently snickering like a fourteen year old boy at that three-pronged bit, and he absolutely wasn’t saving it to share with her at the most inopportune moment. He was still distracted with all the ways he could translate that bad metaphor into spectacular and boundary-pushing sex when he picked her up from work.

“You look entirely too pleased with yourself,” Essa said, shoving her long brown hair into a ponytail before taking the spare helmet he extended toward her. She tugged it on with a grimace, muttering about helmet laws and his surprising adherence to them. “And I don’t care how sweet it is, I’m not riding in Caleb’s sidecar.”

He was ridiculously proud of the thing. Seanna had found it for him through her social network, languishing in a junkyard outside of Starkhaven, half rusted to nothing. He wasn’t entirely sure that he couldn’t have built one out from scratch for cheaper than he’d restored the sporty zeppelin shaped exterior, but Denny and Laci’d had a blast helping him and damned if Caleb didn’t look every kind of retro-adorable in his classic doggles and aviator scarf.

“The car is for the groceries,” Garrett said, nodding to the back of his seat. Aside from Kissing Day, the bike was the only thing he really had left of his father, and he had kept the old roadster pristine. “I want the torment of you behind me—“

He broke off, grin wide enough to hurt his lips, when Essa started snickering.

“I guess I knew you were adventurous.” She propped one arm lightly on the handlebar closest to her, posed with one hip hitched, the other hand on the apex of that curve Garrett adored so much. Her lips pursed thoughtfully. “That’s going to take some internet shopping though.”

She grinned at him then, quick and flirtatious, all marvelous mischief and shocking faith. It wasn’t just the sex—though, Maker, help him, it was sometimes about the sex—but Garrett had never had anyone trust him the way Essa did. Effortlessly and gladly, without an ounce of resentment.

Garrett’s heart stumbled at the thought, and he nearly missed her next bit of teasing.

“…and probably no small amount of research on my part, but I’m game if you are.”

He caught her wrist with gentle fingers and tugged her close to his side. Fall was just starting to threaten Kirkwall, and she was warmer than the late afternoon. She had changed shirts since that morning, a common enough occurrence. She worked mostly with mabaris, or those she affectionately referred to as mabari-like people, and she was always dressed comfortably and for mobility.

The sleeveless white tunic she was wearing this evening didn’t so much cover her ass as accentuate the cling of her black leggings. She was wearing boots--her only real concession to the turning seasons--low-heeled, calf-high pull ons in black leather that looked vaguely like a riding boot and only gave her an extra inch or so. When he was seated on his bike, they put her a charming height over him, one she liked to exploit, teasing him with almost kisses, murmuring the virtues of delayed gratification in the whispering passes of her lips to his.

Garrett’s hand tightened on hers; he should have waited until he had kissed her to hand her the helmet.

“Research, huh?” he asked, trying very hard not to picture _that_.

It wasn’t the best way to distract his libido, but it was better than nothing. Their relationship didn’t feel new to him--he was constantly surprised by just how comfortable they were together, how it felt as if they’d always been friends, always been more--but sex was something else. It was still new, and they both seemed starved for the other.

“Well…” That grin again, a quick flash that silvered her grey eyes and crinkled the corners. “I could just ask Bull. I’m sure he would pay good money for the chance to—“

Garrett pinched her on the ass and she broke off with a squeal.

“What?” Essa blinked in feigned innocence.

“Not so fast out of the gate, you wretched woman.” The curse was of course his favorite affection for her. “We’ve been having sex for an entire week and a half.”

“I know...but I mean if you’re already bored with what we’ve been doing…” she continued, cheeks bright beneath heavily scattered freckles, “we can step it up a bit.”

If they stepped it up a bit, they’d need physical therapy and iv fluids on the regular. Garrett opened his mouth to say so, but Essa was already laughing, the sound echoing cheerfully from the open visor of her helmet.

“Get on the bike.” He let go of her, nodding back to seat behind him. “And stop trying to distract me. I have plans, woman.” He braced the bike with his legs and waited for her to step past him. “If you behave for all of ten minutes, I might let you get to second base while I drive.”

“Liar.” She clunked her helmet to his with a loud kissing sound, then slapped the visor down. “You know full well I can’t keep up with what the bases are.”

He did, just as he knew she’d cop a feel or two before they even made it to Main Street. Garrett watched in the rearview mirror as she slung her leg over the back, black stretchy cotton clinging to every flexing muscle. He made a sound of appreciation as she settled behind him, thighs to either side of his hips, body warm against his back.

He hadn’t thought this through enough, he realized. He should have borrowed her jeep. She was more than a passing distraction, especially today. Her arms wrapped around him, hands sliding slow and teasing down his chest to his waist, fingers just brushing the button of his jeans.

“You’re not behaving,” he grunted, grabbing her hands and dragging them high above his waist.

“Tell me to stop.” She wiggled her hips toward him and Garrett groaned.

“You know I won’t.”

She leaned forward, breasts a solid press to his back. “Groceries you said?”

He started the bike rather than answer, and they eased out onto the street. Garrett wasn’t nervous, he told himself for the millionth time since he dropped her at work this morning. He had the weekend planned, but nothing that couldn’t be modified depending on how adventurous she was feeling. He knew how she felt about Kissing Day, and he had honestly been willing to give up the holiday this year rather than drag her back through bad memories, but Essa had been stubborn there too, determined to at least try to meet him somewhere in between her usual eschewing of the day and the full complement of Hawke Family traditions. She had set only one rule: no buying anything with artificially inflated prices. She had threatened him with some creative floral injuries if he ever bought her overpriced roses. He would eventually work her around to after Kissing Day clearance flowers, but that was a battle for another year.

And wasn’t that something? Another year. Garrett had been in love before once, though part of him wondered if he had been more in love with the idea than the actuality of them. Still, he had never dared to make plans, never dared to hope for more than the wild tumult of angst and passion. He had never expected the wonder of always.

“Garrett?”

He had driven the brief trek on autopilot, parked in his usual spot behind the Hanged Man without even noticing. He glanced back to see undisguised amusement on Essa’s face through the tinted visor.

“Well,” she said, pulling off her helmet and handing it to him, “at least you didn’t go for anything so trite as an overpriced dinner in some crowded candlelit Orlesian restaurant. The mabari and I would have had to leave you.”

Even knowing she was joking, Garrett waited for the twinge, the familiar ache of a long healed wound in bad weather, but that feeling never came.

“We aren’t going in,” he said, taking his helmet off and stowing both of them in the sidecar. “But it’s easier parking.”

And he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone messing with the bike.

Garrett waited for her to dismount, but he didn’t follow, instead he caught her waist in his hands, pulled her back close for the kiss he had missed when he picked her up a whole fifteen minutes ago.

“How was work?” he asked, tugging her bottom lip between his before she could answer.

She tasted like cinnamon candy and apple tea, which meant she had gotten her break later than usual. Essa murmured something wordless but positive. She leaned down into the kiss, eyes falling shut on a sigh that sank right into his chest, one hand coming to rest on his shoulder for balance. Garrett kept his grip light on her waist, but steady. One moment of weakness and he would give into temptation, drag her across the front of his bike and into his arms. They’d failed their dexterity checks the last time, but he hadn’t had the sidecar then to act as a counterweight…

“Not that I’m complaining.“ Essa was breathless as she opened her eyes. “But I expected something more than making out behind your favorite haunt.”

Her forehead was heavy against his, eyes bright with merriment and lust. Garrett let his hands wander up her sides, brushing her breasts lightly as he sat back and safely away.

“Oh, there’s more,” he assured her, dropping the kickstand.

He rose slowly, pocketed his keys in jeans that were at the moment a little too snug. Essa’s brazen grin was more than worth the momentary discomfort. Garrett closed his eyes and tried to think of anything but backing her against the nearest wall.

“A lot more.” He opened his eyes to stare down at her, watching for any sign of unease. “You’re sure about this?”

There was no hesitation in her nod nor in the smoke of her eyes. Only love and laughter.

“You’ll tell me if we do something you don’t like,” Garrett added.

“I have my safe word,” Essa quipped. “And I’m not afraid to use it.”

She was laughing again when he kissed her, quick, fierce, a reward for her bravery.

“Alright then,” he said, stepping away from her. “Let’s get started.”

~❤~

Garrett had plans. Garrett always had plans, Essa reminded herself as she pulled her hair down from its messy ponytail and then put it back up into a slightly less messy bun. The evening was warm yet; Kirkwall didn’t get that crisp bite of autumn so much as it moved languidly from summer to their approximation of winter. Still the entire city turned out in grand autumnal flare, the bright décor making up for the meager fire kissing the city foliage.

“Presents first,” Garrett said, once her hands were free.

Essa winged a brow at him. They had talked about this, and it didn’t matter how cute he knew he was, she wasn’t going to bend on that part. She made certain to tell him so.

“Oh, they’re not from me.” He was smirking, which did not bode well for her Kissing Day demons. “Well, not only. Though I’m glad you think I’m cute.”

He knew damn well he was more than cute. Though most wouldn’t think it to look at him, he had dressed with care that day.  The beat up jeans were her favorite and the way they hung, almost indecently low on his hips, always left Essa swooning. The faded black tshirt was just as bad, a touch snugger than he usually wore and when the wind hit just right it clung to his chest and abs. It was also soft, made for running her hands over as much as sneaking under. He was still half sunburnt from their summer on the beach, his dark hair now in perpetual beach waves, and there was something extra to his usual swagger, something quiet and more certain.

He was definitely more than cute.

“Kissing Day isn’t just for romance, you know.”

His smirk was wider now that he had caught her ogling him. Essa sneered at him, trusting that he knew she was teasing.

“Oh, I know.”

Essa had been subjected to Bethany’s Kissing Day lectures more than once—and she would have been lying if she didn’t admit she was partially converted already—but listening to Garrett extol the merits of the day in his deep earnest voice was something twice as adorable and nearly religious.

Through the Hawkes’ eyes, the holiday bore little resemblance to the one she had suffered through with her family.

“It’s a celebration of love,” Garrett said, quoting near verbatim the same rant his sister used. “Friendship, family. Sure there’s romance too, but that’s not even the most important part.”

He walked over to the sidecar, rummaged around in the dark floorboard until he came up with a small package wrapped in brown butcher paper and tied with kitchen twine. The same red and white kitchen twine she’d had at the cottage last summer. A pair of hearts had been drawn on the paper. One was unmistakably Fin’s hand. She had taught him to draw less bulbous hearts when they were children.

“It’s from Beth and Fin,” Garrett said, passing her the parcel, “and I’m to tell you that Fin found it for you when you were fifteen, before he realized what the day was to you. He said if you don’t like it, you can give it to Laci or Madison, but that you’ll need to pick up gifts for the other kids.”

That year had been the worst. She had run away from her parents’ party after causing a scene when one of her dance partners tried to get too handsy. She had broken two of Mark Barwick’s fingers. She was still a little proud of that.

“Beth made the trim,” Garrett added.

Essa stared down at the package. It wasn’t heavy, barely more than the weight of paper and string. “If this makes me cry…” She was already close, just thinking of Fin, two years her junior,  saving up the money to buy her a gift that he couldn’t give her. That he had kept it for twelve years…

“Oh, you’re going to cry.” Garrett softened the threat with a smile. “Fin already warned me.”

Of course he had. “I liked it better when you two weren’t friends,” Essa grumbled.

She undid the little bow, slipped the twine into the pocket of her tunic, before picking carefully at the tape. She wanted to keep the hearts. One a lighter red than the other, round and clearly feminine, the other narrow, with a longer point. They were joined, and Essa thought she might make a lovely gift from the keepsake, something for Bethany and Fin, for their wedding, or maybe even next Kissing Day.

She was so intent on preserving the paper the nearly dropped its contents.

“Careful.”

Garrett’s warning had her scrambling, but she caught the fall of whisper soft fabric before it hit the ground. The scarf was finely woven, soft grey cotton gauze printed with horse silhouettes of every color. The ends were stitched together to form a loop, one of those infinity scarves that were so popular, and Bethany had tatted a tiny row of red hearts all the way around the outside edges, a low-profile trim not likely to snag or catch on things.

“Oh!”

Her chest was suddenly too tight. Essa clutched the scarf to her heart, tears filling her eyes and spilling down her cheeks before Garrett could make the quick pair of steps around the bike.

“Maker’s breath!” Garrett exclaimed, taking the paper from her before she dropped it and pulling her into a hug. “I’m glad Fin warned me.”

“Oh, shut up.” Essa clung to him with one arm, burrowing close. Her tears would subside as suddenly as they had arrived, but she wasn't about to pass up being close to him.  “It’s a beautiful gift. I can’t believe he kept it all these years.”

“Why not?” Garrett reached between them, carefully taking the scarf from her hand even as she scowled. “Fin’s a reasonable guy; he probably assumed you’d make new memories at some point.”

Of course he would. Fin had always pulled her from the worst parts of her life, clinging to her with the tenacity of a mabari, dragging her into the best. Essa bit down on her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

“Easy,” Garrett murmured, when she didn't let go of the scarf. “I’m just…”

Essa release it reluctantly and Garrett put just enough space between them to hand her back the paper.

“There.” He lifted the scarf over her head, settled it in a wide drape around her neck before twisting it once and looping it over again. “Perfect.”

He continued fussing with the folds, giving her silence if she needed it, offering his nearness as a distraction if she wanted that instead. Essa folded the paper carefully, before slipping it into his back pocket.

“Hang onto that for me?” She snuck a quick feel, a teasing grope that chased some of the concern from his eyes, and dried the last of the tears in hers.

“Yes, ma’am.”

So many people missed that Garrett Hawke was carefully orchestrated play. His levity was often calculated, though no less genuine for it. His gaze was on her face now, quiet, assessing, even as he continued fussing with her scarf, fingers brushing her jawline and making her shiver. Essa lifted up on her toes, bussed a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Better?” he asked, letting the scarf lie to brush his thumbs across her cheeks, gathering drying tears.

“Never better,” she replied. She took a deep breath. “Now I believe you said ‘presents,’ as in plural?”

She waggled her brows at him, offered him a shaky smile.

“You’re greedy, I see.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead then took another step back, flashed her a grin. “I like it.”

Essa snorted. “You say that now, but just wait until I’m demanding pearls and rubies and—“

Her words tumbled to a halt as he drew a small scrap of red from one pocket.

“Is that a…?”

“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t like it,” he said gruffly. His stare slid past her shoulder, suddenly and uncharacteristically shy. “You don’t like the commercial stuff and I get that, so I, uh…”

His cheeks were bright above his beard, and he broke off with a curse, scrubbing one hand through the short, neatly trimmed hair before hiding his blush and his eyes behind his fingers.

“Just, here. I made it this morning. We used to make them in middle school, so it’s been years. If you don’t like it—“

“Garrett.”

“What?” The syllable was so sulky, Essa couldn’t help smiling. Not that he could see her anyway, hiding behind his hand like he was.

“Shut up.”

She took the bracelet from his outstretched hand, turned her back to him so he couldn’t see the tears that crowded her eyes again. She needed a single moment to herself. Just a breath to bask in the magnitude of the man, in the sheer breadth of his heart. A heart that he had given wholly to her, and in case that wasn’t clear to her already, the pattern was repeated in shimmering tone on tone embroidery floss.

“You made me a bracelet.”

The cuff was wide, nearly half the width of her palm, the weave—was it called weaving or braiding or knotting? Essa didn’t know, but she remembered kids at school making the colorful bracelets and selling them. She had bought some for Fin and Cari a lifetime ago. This one was fancier, and subtler. The threads so tight together than the bracelet held some of its form without the aid of her wrist. Shades of scarlet and crimson were braided together, a repeating pattern of hearts just discernable in the evening light.

“Garrett.” Essa struggled to even whisper; she turned back so that he might hear her. “It’s beautiful.”

It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Essa kicked him in the shin.

“Do you hear me?” she demanded crossly.

“Yeah, I hear you,” he groused. “Don’t kick me.”

“Then stop hiding behind your hand, you ass.”

She wasn’t any better. Essa knew that if she looked at him then, she’d burst into tears. Again.

“Are you going to help me put this on?”

The bracelet wasn’t adjustable like the ones she was used to seeing. It had two small button holes and a pair of tiny metal buttons instead of the long trailing braids for tying.

He grunted an affirmation, and then Essa waited, breath held, as he took the bracelet back from her, his clever fingers wrapping it loosely around her wrist.

“It’ll get easier to fasten once it wears a little,” he said, working the buttons gently through. The bracelet fit perfectly, close but not too tight. “And it’s washable, because I know you.”

He was standing close again, breath stirring her hair. Essa dared a glance at his face, found a lopsided smile waiting for her. He was brash to a fault, and his confidence was hardly a façade, but he too often hid his own fears behind that formidable armor.

“It’s perfect.” Essa traced the center heart with one finger tip. “I’ll wear your favor gladly, Ser Hawke.”

His grin was swift, as was the sarcastic quip that she didn’t quite hear before he crushed his lips to hers.

“I love you.” She said the words in the same tone, as if they were a worthy retort, a threat rather than a hope. Rather than a promise sealed between kisses.

“I love you too.”

He thrust her away so quickly she nearly stumbled.

“What the fuck was that for?”

“We have shopping to do.” He pointed toward the street. “And Corff told us last week if he caught us fooling around back here he was going to ban us from the bar.”

“Fine,” Essa huffed. “But you don’t know how close you were to getting lucky there.”

His smile softened, eyes warming with so much more than the flash of fire that seemed to lie always between them.

“I’m already lucky.”

~❤~

He had, of course, suspected, but it didn’t take long for Garrett to conclude with utter certainty, that Essa had never been to Lowtown Market for Kissing Day, or any other major holiday for that matter. She stood beside him, grey eyes impossibly wide, fingers laced tight with his. Whatever ill-will she bore the day—and Garrett wasn’t about to suggest it was unwarranted—seemed to be immediately sidelined by all-consuming shock.

And no little wonder.

“By the Mabari…” Essa gasped, staring into the milling crowds. “This is either the most wonderful or most terrible party I’ve ever seen.”

“A little of both,” Garrett laughed. “We aren’t staying—unless you want to—“ Which he seriously doubted. “But I wanted you to see—“

“How the other half lives?” she snarked with a shake of her head. “I can promise you, we didn’t have this in Ostwick.”

Kissing Day was celebrated all over Thedas, but it had begun in Kirkwall and the city took that origin seriously, turning into one endless, rambling street festival for the entire second weekend of Kingsway. Hightown had its grand masques, formal affairs very like the ones Essa’s parents threw, but Garrett liked to think that the rest of the city did it right. There were street performers and food trucks, musicians on every corner. Children ran pell-mell in carefully cordoned neighborhoods, throwing biodegradable confetti at the most obvious couples and singing rhymes about kisses and trees and love and marriage.

It was chaos, unrestrained and sometimes bawdy, especially as the hours grew late and the children were put to bed, but always there was an undercurrent of love, pure and sweet, celebrated in all its wondrous forms.

His family’s first Kissing Day in Kirkwall had been the hardest. Neither Bethany nor their mother had felt like celebrating. Garrett hadn’t pushed them that year, instead, he had wandered the city, mourning his father, mourning his brother, but finding comfort in the celebration of others all around him.

Lowtown Market came the closest to controlling that chaos without stifling, and Garrett had thought that if there was anywhere in the city that Essa might enjoy sharing the day with a strangers, it was here. She clung to his hand as they wandered the stalls, which was a good thing, since she was so distracted by her bracelet that she would have mowed people down or caused herself injury if Garrett hadn’t been keeping a careful eye out. He tugged her around a low cluster of Kissing Day toys, knee high plushes, mabari and dolphins and tigers and every other large animal imaginable, each clutching a giant red heart with _Happy Kissing Day!_ embroidered in scrawling cursive.

“How are we doing?” Garrett asked her, tugging her out of the main aisle and between the only two vendors he was actually concerned with supporting.

“I’m okay?” Her eyes were still wide—she had hardly blinked in half an hour—as she looked up from a display of feather crowns. She cast a furtive glance around them. “I’ve never seen so many people here. Or so many beautiful useless things that I’m certain I don’t need but can’t help wanting. It’s a little overwhelming?”

He had thought that it might be, but he also knew she enjoyed a little of the most benign human spectacles. As long as she was with someone she trusted. He had done his homework after the fair that summer. Fin had told him that it wasn’t necessarily that she hated crowds, she just hated having to be on constant guard. She was fine as long as someone was close to hold her hand or nudge her between clusters of people. She was also better on the fringes, if there fringes to be had.

“We can head out after this,” Garrett said, nodding to the bank of tables in the next tent.   

_Kim’s Cookies_ was more than just a bakery—though their cookies and cakes were among Garrett’s favorite in the city. They had a proper storefront now, but they’d started out as market stall, sweet treats baked each week in Kim’s home kitchen. They kept a booth for weekend regulars and for holidays, but Kissing Day weekend was when Kim and her employees pulled out all the stops. Along with every baked good imaginable, they had a spread of “cookie jewels” tiny jars and vials of brightly colored sugar crystals and sprinkles, mini chocolate chips and chocolate shavings.  

“What are we picking up?”

“Anything you want.”

He had all the basics already at the cottage, butter on the counter so that it would be soft when they got home, sugars and flours, and cocoas. Cinnamon and saffron, dates and pistachios. He didn’t know what all they’d get to, but cookies were first on his list and he remembered fondly the days when his father took him, Bethany, and Carver to the market to pick out their own decorations.

“ _Anything_?” Essa asked.

Her eyes were sparkling nearly as brightly as the candy before her, and Garrett grinned, waving Kim over when she caught his eye across the tent.

“Anything.” Garrett gave into temptation, dropped a kiss on Essa’s temple. Her hair smelled like cinnamon now, from the sticks woven amid the fake apples and autumn leaves on the crown she’d actually let him buy her. There were roses too, deep burgundy and purple and she had plans already to use it as a centerpiece for the kitchen table. “I had no idea you could be so easily bribed, Trevelyan.”

“Neither did I!” Essa grinned up at him. “But this…”

This was different and he knew it. This wasn’t money tossed around carelessly, this wasn’t a pretense of love or affection. In truth, he hadn’t spent that much—she had insisted on buying _his_ flower crown—so really it was only grocery items they usually kept to some degree, and a half dozen saffron buns.

“Garrett.” For a moment she sounded entirely too serious. He turned from the array of candies and icings to find her frowning, one finger tapping her chin in contemplation.

“Yes?”

“We’re baking all the cookies tonight?”

He didn’t know about _all_ the cookies, but—

“And you’re going to let me leave them on doorsteps in the morning without actually having to talk to anyone?”

“Yes, we’re going to get up early, have pancakes—“

“Not heart-shaped,” she interjected.

“No, not heart-shaped.” There was only so much of that, and honestly, he didn’t want to upstage himself. He hadn’t expected her to react quite that way to the bracelet. “Chocolate.”

Essa hummed in appreciation. “And you’re doing the cooking?”

“Yes, I am.” Dark chocolate with dried cranberries, white chocolate chips, and whipped cream. Not that he’d planned that down to the last or anything. He slipped an arm around her waist, moved her forward half a step so that a couple could squeeze past them. “After pancakes we’ll make the rounds.”

“You know Fin will be awake even that early.”

But Garrett and Fin had already thought of that. “Fin and Bethany have promised to divorce you if you make them leave their love nest.” Essa blanched and Garrett chuckled. “Their exact words,” he snickered. “So you don’t have to worry about being polite and ringing the bell. Just leave the cookies and send them a text after you dash.”

“We’re going to be Kissing Day fairies.”

Garrett laughed. “Yes, but I’m not wearing wings.”

Though Maker, preserve him, if she wanted him to, there was a vendor only a few stalls down. He would absolutely go buy a pair. Anything that continued to exorcise old demons and kept that smile on her face was worth it.

“Alright.” Essa nodded. “So…” She tapped one finger, then another, then another. “Who all are we making cookies for? Fin and Bethany. Seanna and the kids?”

“And us,” Garrett added wryly.

They were starting slow this year.

“And us.” Essa let go of his hand, lifted her gaze to Kim’s expectant face. “We’re going to need _all_ the sprinkles.”

They ended up with only some of the sprinkles but only because Essa started running out of steam after choosing the eighth small container. He could tell she was tired, enjoying herself far more than he expected, but tired. The energy of so many two-legged people was wearing on her. Garrett added a pony-shaped cookie cutter to their cache—he had a mabari already—and a package of cellophane bags and twist ties for cookie delivery, before leaning over the table to pay and thank Kim with a kiss on the cheek.

Their last stop was just next to Kim’s for Mikayla’s twice-baked sweet potatoes. Garrett had flank steak and peppers marinating back at the cottage, but these were a treat he couldn’t pass up and sweet potatoes were a special favorite of Essa’s.

“Ready?” he asked, offering her his elbow now that his hands were full of bags.

“Oh yes.” She grinned. “This was wonderful, but—”

Garrett bumped her with his hip, waited for her to thread one arm through his.

“But you’re ready for some quiet.”

She nodded. “I mean…“

He knew she was about to offer to stay longer for his sake. He was more social than she was, and he appreciated the times she lingered with their friends, but it wasn’t always necessary.

“I’m ready to have you all to myself,” he said, interrupting her. “So that balances out.”

The sun had set by the time they left Kirkwall, and there was a nip in the air. Essa wrapped snuggly around him as he drove, more than her natural warmth pouring off of her, waves of heat carefully controlled, nervous energy transformed and offered as a gift to his comfort. The drive was long and quiet beneath the engine noise. He felt the tension in Essa's body release in slow increments as they put the city behind them. She sighed in relief as they turned off of the highway and onto their driveway, her arms squeezing tight around him in a hug.

_Yeah_ , Garrett thought, cutting the engine and letting the slope of the headland draw them down into the yard. _Me too._

The dogs came out, barks a merry chorus as they bounced just beyond the garden gate. Garrett nudged Essa toward the house.

“I’ll unload. Go get your boots off and put your feet in the sand, I’ll be down in a few.”

“You’re too damn good to me, Garrett Hawke.” He wasn’t, but Garrett didn’t think he’d ever convince her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, drew him down for a kiss. “I’ll take the wild mabari with me so they’re not underfoot.”

“Thank you.” He kissed her again before she could step away, lingering this time, pulling her close and nibbling a sigh from her lips. “And thank you for today, I know it wasn’t easy.”

“It was easier than I thought it would be.” Her fingers were in his hair, teasing, tugging. “But everything about us is.” She let him go with obvious reluctance. “You sure I can’t help you take everything inside?”

“I’m sure.”  He gave her a little push. “We’re just getting started, Trevelyan.”

“Damn right,” she said. She was laughing as she headed for the back door, and Garrett knew she wasn’t just talking about Kissing Day. She tossed him a wink. “Guess I’ll go get out of these clothes then.”

“Tease!” he called after her.

“A standing offer is not a tease!” she shouted back.

He rushed through putting up their treats, found her half an hour later down on the beach, barefooted and wearing nothing but her red bikini and his bracelet, sitting on a blanket with four mabari sprawled around her. Caleb was rolled up on his back, tongue lolling, likely coated in sand. Greta and Petey were snoring softly—well, not so softly, he could hear them over the surf as he drew near.

“The coals are nearly ready.” Essa nodded toward the grill, then waved one hand, magic flaring soft and blue around her fingers. “I can hurry them along if you want.”

“Nah.” He stepped past the blanket, set the plate he was carrying on the small table by the grill. “This way I can be distracted by you for as long as I want and I don’t have to worry about burning our dinner.”

Pepper stretched across the blanket, front legs reaching, tail wagging. Garrett crouched to scratch her ears.

“I have a present for you,” Essa said.

There was mystery in her eyes. The moons were high and near full, casting silver light to bounce bright over the worn plaidweave blanket she loved so much.  Shadows stretched toward him across the sand, soft and wide and shaped like home, shaped like pack. Essa rose slowly to her feet, as much mermaid as mabari, long dark hair loose now and tangling in the salt breeze.

“You…” He couldn’t imagine where she was keeping such a gift. Garrett grinned. “I’ll take anything you have hiding under that bikini.”

Essa smirked. “Not with an audience of mabari you won’t.”

They had learned that lesson the hard way.

“It’s not…well, I didn’t have time to make something so wonderful as you did.” She glanced to her bracelet, nearly tripped over Pepper when the dog rolled to intercept her. Garrett reached out to catch her elbow and Essa petted the dog with one foot. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“It’s…” He tried not to squirm when she chewed on her bottom lip. “I’ve had it forever,” Essa said finally. “I found it on the beach my first visit here, before I even rented the cottage.”

She reached for her neck, pulled off a necklace she hadn’t been wearing earlier. The leather cord was simple, thin and smooth, black or navy—it was hard to tell in the moonlight, but he would guess the former. Dangling from the center was a small white cockle shell, its natural heart shape unmistakable. He had seen the shell before; she kept it on her dresser with assorted seaglass and pretty stones.

“I just put it on a cord I already had,” she grumbled. “If it’s stupid or…”

“Essa.” He pulled her closer to him, waited for her feet to settle, one between his, one to the outside, an easy stance that was rapidly becoming preciously familiar.

“What?” she asked crossly.

“Shut up.”

She snarled at him, clinging to the necklace as if she might not give it to him after all. Garrett touched her chin with one fingertip, lifted her gaze to his even as he snatched the necklace from her in a lightning fast move that he knew made her heart race.

“It’s perfect,” he said, leaning down to brush her lips with his. “Happy Kissing Day.”

“It’s not Kissing Day yet,” she retorted, then her mouth dropped open, eyes going wide. “Don’t you dare say it.” She glared at him, expectant, mutinous, and already laughing.

Garrett grinned, said it anyway. “Every day is Kissing Day with you, Trevelyan.”

She rolled her eyes, huffed at him, kissed him back with laughter in her teeth. “I hate you so much, Garrett Hawke.”

 


	9. There's No Place Like Home For the Holidays 1/3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Essa and Garrett's first Satinalia together and he is stuck out of town, heart yearning toward home. I posted this over on tumblr at Christmastime and absolutely forgot to crosspost here. As I move more and more away from tumblr, I'm going to try to get everything there here. Thank you for your patience.
> 
> Homesick holiday fluff, friendship fluff, sibling fluff, and a little angst (but not much).

Essa Trevelyan hated Satinalia. She had a stack of Grinch t-shirts to prove it, no matter how much Sera insisted that the Grinch didn’t actually hate Satinalia, only people. Say what she wanted, but Essa distinctly recalled a line from the poem reading “the Grinch hated Satinalia, the whole Satinalia season” and while the rest of Thedas dressed in shades of blue and silver and gold for the last week of Harvest mere, she stuck to red and white and a mean grinchy green in solidarity.

“Something happen to your radio?” Fin asked, cheeks bright with cold and no small amount of mischief as he puffed in the back door of the cottage carrying a box filled with what had once been contraband. He knew the rules better than anyone, but he also knew that since Garrett Hawke moved in, all the rules had changed. Essa, bent over the open over door to inspect the latest batch of gingerbread cookies, didn’t bother looking up.

“Same thing that’s going to happen to your ass if you mention it again.”

It wasn’t quite a snarl, but she had lost anything that might have approximated even forced Satinalia cheer when Garrett called to tell her that his flight had been delayed. Again. And this time, it didn’t look like the weather was going to let him leave until tomorrow. Essa’s favorite blues station—whose DJ was generally trustworthy even this time of year—had played one too many homecoming themed Satinalia song. Essa had fried the radio with a shiver of lightning about halfway through “Please Come Home for Satinalia.”

She didn’t need the noise anyway, and that’s all it was. Noise! Noise! Noise!

“I hate this fucking holiday,” she added, just for good measure, as if—after a lifetime together—Fin wasn’t completely aware.

“Yes, Grinch-Essa.”

It wasn’t just Satinalia. Truth was, she hated all the major holidays. They were nothing but over-commercialized, overly social spectacles, filled beyond excess with counterfeit cheer and manufactured emotions, false family and friends wrapped up in guilt and obligation, too much tinsel and noise and reciprocity.

“Not a word, Fin.”

Essa straightened from the oven, tugging at the hem of her beat up Grinch t-shirt, tiny heart clearly visible through the cartoon x-ray machine. She didn’t want anyone thinking she had learned any such holiday lessons.

Especially this year.

“Did you make…” Fin paused on his way across the kitchen, gaze firmly on the oven rack. “Are those  _zombie_ gingerbread men?”  


“Listen, boyo—”

Essa slammed the oven door and Caleb—the last mabari still willing to put up with her bad mood—grumbled his way to his feet and out the back door. Essa told herself she didn’t feel guilty, but they all knew she would be bribing them back in with treats later and promising recompense.

“I was supposed to be baking cookies with Garrett today.” She gestured at the gingerbread people with their broken limbs and bright red eyes. She had every intention of icing them with wide, white grimaces or gaping maws filled with the blood of the unfortunate. She felt a little better at the thought. “This is what happens when I’m left to my own devices.”

Garrett was going to love them, and Fin could kiss her ass.

“Uh-huh.” Fin’s grin was broad, but he had the sense not to meet her glare. “Where do you want me to put the gifts for tomorrow?”

Essa threw one arm out toward the den, stared anywhere but at Fin. “In there, beneath the tree.”

“You put up a tree?” There it was, the absolute incredulity combined with the certainty that she had lost her fucking mind.

“I mean it, Fin.”

She didn’t miss his smirk as he ambled out into the hall, box of presents so large he could only grip it awkwardly.

Spectacle, Essa sighed.

“You did this?” Fin called from the den.

There had never been a Satinalia tree at Essa’s cottage, and certainly not one she’d had to decorate by herself. Alright, that wasn’t strictly true. When Garrett realized he wasn’t going to make it home on time, he had sent Laci, Denny, and Madison to help, but that didn’t mean Essa had to be happy about it.

Even if she was.

“Not one word, Fin!”

It didn’t exactly look like a proper Satinalia tree. She might not celebrate the holiday, but Essa knew what counted. Still, she thought this was good compromise and she would defend it if needed, just not to Fin. The large, potted rosemary bush would go out in Essa’s garden in the spring, but for now it had been trimmed into a vague fir tree silhouette. It was set in a galvanized steel tub on top of another overturned tub for height. She and the kids had spent the day before making paper moons and stars out of silver and blue paper and stringing popcorn and cranberries into garland. There was a stuffed mabari tied at the top with a bit of baling twine and Laci had stuck a sprig of fake mistletoe on top of the dog’s head.

Essa was absurdly proud of it. Not that she planned on admitting it to anyone.

“It’s a little perfect,” he said as she rounded the corner, fully prepared to pick a fight with her best friend. He had already arranged his and Bethany’s gifts beneath the tree and was standing back admiring the effect. She had to hand it to him, the plain brown paper and bright blue yarn Bethany had chosen this year seemed to bring the whole hodge-podge together into something like a rustic theme.

“It is,” Essa agreed in surprise.

She was still frowning when Fin stepped back, slipping an arm around her waist, tugging her to his side to press a kiss to her temple.

“You know this isn’t how Hawke wanted your first Satinalia to go.”

Garrett had been planning for at least a month, hoping for a repeat of Kissing Day. The compromise of MaXimum Holiday Cheer!™ and the total lack of observance that Essa leaned toward had been surprisingly successful. She had, cautiously, begun to look forward to the week of impending holiday doom, until Garrett got offered a job he couldn’t justify turning down. He was—and would always be, Essa supposed—something of a hero for hire. A joke that had stuck fast once Seanna changed the flier he had up at the store. His work was still mostly local to Seaside and Kirkwall, but this last minute gig was a good one, a bit of light security something or other. He had been recommended for the job by Cullen, and the pay was certainly better than most. The work was easy—Garrett was mostly escorting a couple of nature photographers around the Emerald Graves—and certainly less dangerous than some of his others.

Essa sighed. “I know.”

She had agreed with him that the opportunity was too good to pass up, had even been a bit relieved when she initially thought he would be out of town for the holiday, but no, his clients had promised he would be home a week before Satinalia. Then they’d promised three days.

“It was sweet of you decorate for him.”

“Shut up, Fin.”

Satinalia was two days away and Garrett’s return had been postponed twice. Three times if she counted the delayed flight and Essa damn well was. She was more irritated on Garrett’s behalf than her own, and her own was considerable. He had been trying to take it all in stride, but Essa knew the distance was wearing on him. He had hoped to be home in time to decorate, to spend at least some of the holiday weekend with his friends and family. Essa had done what she could, and Bethany and Fin, Varric, Merrill, and Fenris were all coming over tomorrow to help her get the place put together for a proper welcome home.

Still, she knew it wouldn’t be the same.

“I mean it,” Fin protested, holding up both hands when she threatened to pop him one. Pity he didn’t believe she would. “Now if you’d just change into something remotely festive—“ He dodged back when she faked a punch at his head, laughing as he beat feet back to the kitchen.

“I’ve got festive!” Essa shouted as he called I love yous and goodnights from the back door. She had above and beyond festive, thank you very much. Not that she was going to share that with Fin.

“Pics or it didn’t happen!” Fin yelled back.

Essa laughed helplessly, rounding the corner into the kitchen just as the oven timer began to beep.  “The pics would scar you for life, Fin Larkson!”

She pulled the cookies out of the oven, set them on the cold stove top to cool.

“Happy Satinalia, Garrett,” Fin said, adding a bawdy whistle as he stepped out the back door.

“ASSHOLE!” Essa shrieked, around a gasp of laughter.

“WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT NOT WANTING DETAILS!?!?”

Fin’s laughter bounced across the yard, echoing as twilight fell, cool and violet across the headland. Essa stood at the kitchen window, doing her best to glare menacingly at his truck just in case he was looking. He flashed his lights as he started the old diesel, the roar of the engine eliciting a trio of barks from the bigger dogs and sending Pepper scampering inside.

Essa’s phone chimed from the counter.

 _See you bright and early,_ Fin’s text promised.  There were a half dozen holiday emoji, including a snowman and a sandcastle.

  
Essa groaned.  _You better be glad I love you,_ she texted back.

 _  
You love Gare It._ The reply was immediate and clearly Fin’s speech to text was struggling with the way he sang the words.

_  
I’ll kill you, Fin._

_  
But not until the holidays are over._

 

The jerk wasn’t wrong. Essa sent him a kissy face emoji.  _Text me when you get home._

~*~

“Just text me when Fin gets home,” Garrett ordered, dodging through Starkhaven’s crowded airport terminal while his sister prattled away, trying to reassure him that Essa—Essa  _Trevelyan_ , she reminded him as if he didn’t know exactly who he was worrying about—was a fully functioning adult who did not need him to hold her hand through the Satinalia holiday. In fact, if she had her way, she would ignore the entire Satinalia holiday.

 

Garrett was trying to tell himself that was fine.

“Don’t take that tone with me, Garrett Hawke.” Bethany’s objection was token; she had already made the mistake of letting him know exactly how much she was enjoying his misery. Well, some of it. Bethany was mean, but she wasn’t cruel. “She’s fine. She doesn’t usually celebrate the holiday anyway, so your not being there has just meant that she hasn’t had to step out of her comfort zone. And maybe that’s a good thing. You can ride the coattails of your Kissing Day success a little longer and Fin and I might get her to come to our First Day party this year.”

He had been hoping for that too, but he wasn’t going to tell Bethany that. Not until he had talked it out with Essa.They liked pushing boundaries, each others as well as their own together, but the end of the year had been a whirlwind between her barbeque and Kissing Day and whatever they managed to salvage of Satinalia. If she wanted to stay home for First Day, they would stay home.

“It’s hardly the end of the world if you miss Satinalia,” Bethany lied through her teeth and Garrett rolled his eyes. He still didn’t know if she had called to make him feel better or worse about being stuck four hours from home. He had already exhausted every other possible avenue of escape, but there wasn’t standing room on any of the trains, nor a rental car for a hundred miles.

“There is nothing good about missing Satinalia,” he growled, smiling in apology at a pair of passersby. His scowl must have been approximating Essa’s impressive glower; people didn’t usually scurry out of his path. “And I get it. Her family is shit, worse than ours, but we were supposed to be making new memories this year.”

He wanted a lifetime of new memories, of good memories, of traditions found and forged together, but he couldn’t see the stretch of precious years; he wanted to be home with Essa  _now._ The idea of her snuggled up with the dogs, not a shred of holiday cheer to be had, drove him mad, made all the worse by the fact that he would have traded every hope of carols and cookies and twinkling lights just to be there with her.

“No one should be alone on Satinalia,” he added, more to make himself feel better than to convince Bethany. She was as bad as he was about the holiday, and Garrett didn’t doubt for one moment that she was reigning supreme from her new kitchen island. “Not even Essa.”

“Not even if that’s what she wants?” Bethany asked.

“She doesn’t know what she wants!”

Which was bullshit, but he was committed now, having worked himself into a fine temper, a combination of homesickness—Garrett Hawke did not get fucking homesick—and travel exhaustion and general bitterness at missing so much of the holiday season.

“Try again,” Bethany said mildly.

“Dammit, Beth, I miss her, alright? A week is too damned long—“ Three days had been two too long, but he wasn’t saying that out loud yet. “—especially this time of year.”

They had spent all of their free time texting and talking, falling asleep at night to silence shared over the phone.

“I just…I was looking forward to seeing what we might do together. I hate the idea of her…”

Fuck him, he was a selfish bastard. He hated the idea of her not missing him, of her being more than content without the Satinalia noise. “Dammit,” Garrett swore softly. “She’s fine, isn’t she?”

Better than fine, knowing Essa. It was Saturday, which meant she would have something wonderful simmering in the crockpot, a string of old movies waiting in the den. It was cool now, with Firstfall fast approaching, she might still be wearing both halves of her buckaroo jammies. So what if she didn’t celebrate Satinalia? Maker’s breath, he wanted to be home.

“You really are all in, aren’t you?” Bethany asked softly.

Silence stretched across the distance, louder than the frantic bustle of the crowded airport.

“You doubted.”

He told himself he wasn’t offended, tried to remind himself that it wasn’t entirely Bethany’s fault that she believed he would be the last man on Thedas to want to settle down.

“I worried,” she corrected. “You will recall that I love you both.”

Garrett sighed. “I want to marry her, Beth.” She may as well know, Fin already did. Garrett wasn’t the guy to ask for a woman’s hand, it was her hand after all, and Essa would have kicked his ass if he had been so stupid, but Fin meant a lot to both of them, and he knew Essa better than anyone.

“If you ask her on a major holiday,” Bethany said, confirming what Garrett damn well knew, “we’ll never find your body.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Garrett grumbled, staring without focus at a shelf filled with wedding magazines while Bethany began a long list of evidence to the contrary.  A beach wedding, he thought. Early spring, or late fall. The ring would need to be simple, maybe one of those silicon deals he saw advertised for people who worked a lot with their hands. Practical, a pretty color. Void take him, he’d buy her every color they made.

“Sometimes you are,” Bethany argued.

“Thanks for that.”

“Just keeping you humble.” But whatever teasing had there had been in her voice faded. “You know, I always thought whoever you ended up with would do that.”

“What?” Garrett frowned, nearly knocked over a pair of young teenagers giggling in front of an art magazine with a cover full of  _the Year’s Best Nudes._  “May as well accept it,” he said to the boys. “Penises look ridiculous, even when we think they’re something to be proud of.”

They may as well learn that now. He had been far too impressed with himself at that age. The kids flushed and scampered off; an older couple on the next aisle laughed with him.

“What?!” Bethany screeched.

“Nothing.” He made his way back out into chaos of the airport’s main mall. “You were giving me an apology of some kind, Beth, don’t think I missed it.”

“Jerk.” But her voice was gentle. “I thought…” She sighed, an exasperated exhale. “I thought that a good match for you would curb that ego of yours. I was wrong, Garrett, and I’m sorry.”

Well, shit. “Bethany…”

“Essa’s good for you,” she continued, blissfully unaware at how her every word was making him more and more homesick. “She doesn’t diminish you. I’m sorry I ever thought you might need that.”

She had loved Anders too, especially in the beginning when they had all—Garrett included—thought the quiet healer would temper Garrett’s brashness, bring him some hope of quiet, some pretense of peace. They had all been wrong, sometimes even for the right reasons. Garrett hadn’t been looking for peace, he had been looking for adventure. Still was, only now he knew adventure was a person. Peace came only from himself.

“I don’t want to compare them,” Garrett said roughly. There wasn’t any point in that, and such comparisons were never good for anyone. “Essa isn’t a replacement. I wasn’t missing a part and waiting to find her.”

“No,” Bethany agreed. “The two of you don’t fit together at all, do you?”

“We aren’t puzzle pieces.” There were a million bad metaphors out there, and Garrett hated most of them. Essa more so. She had threatened to deck him if he ever called her his better half. He wasn’t certain he believed the threat of physical violence, but he trusted the sentiment. Maker knew he shared it.

“Of course you aren’t.” She was laughing at him; Garrett couldn’t blame her.  “But you’re good for each other, and you’re obnoxiously good together.” She paused as the speakers over Garrett’s head erupted with another flight announcement, crackling with the static of decade’s old technology. “Any news?”

“Nothing good,” Garrett sighed. “I think I’m going to be here all night.”

Every hotel in the area was booked. Just as soon as he knew what terminal he needed to be at, he would be crashing there, praying he didn’t sleep through his flight.

“Fucking blight, this blows.”

He was whining, and he didn’t fucking care who heard him. This was the last time he took an out of town job during the holiday. The money—fuck, no amount of money—was worth this. The days leading up to Satinalia were among his very favorite, and while he had known he couldn’t drag Essa into Kirkwall for all of them—he couldn’t see her being game for the white halla exchange at the Hanged Man—he had rather meticulously planned a selection of highlights for the two of them to enjoy together.

“Did you get the saffron buns from Carters?” he asked his sister.

“Picked them up yesterday, barely cool from the oven. They’re in my freezer.  I’ll bring them over tomorrow.”

Garrett didn’t dare hope he would be home tomorrow. So many flights had been delayed that the next into Kirkwall was late Satinalia eve. He would be lucky to make it by midnight.

“I also picked up some of those meat pies you love so much, they freeze just fine and won’t take a lot for the two of you to heat up. I know you’re exhausted, Garrett. I will understand completely if you don’t come by the house on Satinalia Day.”

Not come by? Had Bethany lost her mind? “And miss the only celebration I’ll actually be around for?” Garrett asked in disbelief. “No thank you. I’ll be there, Beth, with or without Essa and I will thank you to have all my favorite foods too.”

Bethany laughed. “You’d better have found time to get me a present.”

Presents were the one thing he had, and because he was paranoid about losing his luggage they were all small enough to fit in his carry on and probably far too extravagant. Bethany wouldn’t mind, but Essa was just going to have to get over her usual objections.

“All the presents,” he promised, “and more once I get back to Kirkwall.”

“ **Garrett Hawke, your party is waiting for you at the information desk. Garrett Hawke, your party is…** ”  


“Hang on, Beth. If these idiot photographers have forgotten something…”

They had paid him well, and offered him another job far from the holiday season, but Garrett wasn’t above socking someone in the nose. Not tonight.

“Garrett…”

He didn’t hear whatever else Bethany might have said. He wasn’t far from the large central station—thank the Maker—so it didn’t take him long to reach it, but airport was a mess, filled with tired voices and angry faces. So many who, like him, just wanted to be home.

“Garrett Hawke,” he called, trying not to push his way to the counter. “You paged me?”

“One moment.” A very harried looking older woman wearing a near antique headset glanced up at him. She nodded, pushing her chin to indicate the direction he had come.

“I want something shiny,” Bethany said loudly, stepping around a large concrete pillar. She was wearing a hideous, oversized sweater, silver and gold stars scattered across Satinalia blue amid a riot of frolicking mabari. Her hat, some horribly knitted thing in glaring stripes, was pulled down over her ears, and her hair was in one long messy braid.“Dawnstone, azurite, diamonds the size of my nose.”

Garrett gaped at her, mouth opening and closing until she reached to put her fingers beneath his chin.

“Gold,” Garrett vowed. “Silverite. Anything you want.”

He swept her into a hug, spun them in circle that earned a squeal from Bethany, and no few curses from the crowd around them.

“Are you really here?” He couldn’t quite believe it.

“I drove all afternoon.” She pinched him for her trouble and Garrett planted a sloppy kiss on one cheek, then another. “Traffic has been terrible and you had better believe you’re driving home.”

“You can sleep all the way,” he promised, squeezing her tight, kissing her again. “Bethany–”

He didn’t know what to say. There weren’t words, never seemed to be when he needed them.

“Happy Satinalia, Garrett.” She patted his cheek with one mittened hand. “Let’s get you home.”

 


	10. There's No Place Like Home For the Holidays 2/3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part two of Garrett x Essa's first Satinalia. a little nsfw ish. because well...it's these jerks. lol

To Essa’s great surprise, Satinalia Eve  _Eve—_ and who had come with that ridiculous moniker? Essa wanted to know—had been something of a success. She owed small debts to her friends for their help, but she was cautiously taking a fair amount of credit for herself and no one could convince her it wasn’t warranted. Seanna had brought eggnog when she brought the kids and the rosemary tree, and the kids—once they were through helping decorate said tree had made their special Satinalia punch, a harrying combination of ginger ale, white grape juice, and neon blue kool-aid that Sera had made all the more bracing when she tipped half a bottle of vodka into the mix. Essa considered it a fair enough trade for the playlist currently playing inoffensive holiday instrumentals from her laptop.

The cottage seemed especially cozy, if a little lonely, tonight. There were string lights in every window, paper lanterns on the porch, silver and gold stars and moons bouncing wildly as a cold southern wind whistled in across the Waking Sea. The dogs were snuggled up in the den, Greta and Petey on the sofa, Caleb and Pepper curled up as close as they could get to the Satinalia tree. Essa hadn’t expected the mabari to enjoy the decorations but there was no denying it; Pepper had sat patiently for fifteen minutes while Sera tied and retied a lopsided ribbon around her collar.

The kitchen table was covered in Satinalia fare, Gingerbread zombies and spiced cake, tiny fruitcake cookies that Bethany insisted were nothing like the dreaded fruitcake, candied fruits gleaming like jewels. Essa had a crockpot full of cider mulling and the whole house smelled like apples and cinnamon and cloves. There was a turkey in the smoker on the porch and saffron buns in the freezer; she would take them out to thaw the moment Garrett called to say he was coming home. She had filled bowls with sea shells and sea glass, nestled silver candles amid the sea’s gifts and scattered those throughout the house. All in all, she thought she had scraped together a pretty decent Satinalia, for a Grinch anyway.

This was their first Satinalia together, and his first Satinalia at Seaside. Garrett had been more than understanding of her reluctances. Essa didn’t think she would ever enjoy the flurry of commercialism in Kirkwall, but she wanted him to be happy with whatever traditions they might build together.

By the Mabari, she still couldn’t quite get over how much he wanted them to build together.

Her phone rang just as she was making one last walkthrough of the cottage, checking the temperature on the smoker one last time before she turned in. It was late, just past midnight, and she had indulged in quite possibly the longest bubble bath of her life while waiting for Garrett to call. Essa scurried back to the bedroom, grabbed her phone on the last ring before it went to voicemail.

“Hey, there.” She could only hope he mistook her breathlessness for something sultry. They had plans for the evening, ones she was determined to make good on despite the yawns crowding behind her teeth.

“How’s it going?”

Her heart did that stupid little flip it did every time she heard his voice and Essa sighed, part relief, part longing.

“Better now.” She smiled. “How are you?”

“Tired.” He sounded beyond exhausted.

Essa held the phone to her ear, wiggling the fingers on her left hand, wishing she could heal from a distance. “I bet. Are you just getting in?”

Garrett grunted something wordless, annoyance clear. “I didn’t wake you did I?”

“No.” She closed the door behind her quietly before the dogs could come running to join her. “We stayed up late tonight watching Lonesome Dove.”

And baking, but he didn’t need to know that.

“So you’re wearing your buckaroo jammies,” he said, with clear interest.

Essa laughed. “I am not, actually. I thought you wanted something special tonight.”

Garrett groaned, something between misery and appreciation. Essa grinned.

“It’s okay if you forgot.”

“I would never forget.” He was clearly offended, but she would bet he had absolutely forgotten with it being as late it was. “You must really miss me.”

She knew the difference between him fishing for a compliment and needing reassurance. Garrett was a lot of bluster—some of which he even believed—but he carried scars too.

“You know damn well I miss you,” Essa sighed as she crawled into a far too empty bed.

Garrett’s king size bed was now in her slightly larger bedroom, as it was the only thing big enough for both of them and the mabaris that joined them at random intervals during the night. Most of the time, she appreciated the extra space—Essa was a sprawler not a cuddler and Garrett was the worst fucking bed hog she’d ever seen—but since he had been gone the bed just felt too fucking big.

He was too damned far away.

“I know.”

Eight seemingly endless days apart and this was the first she had complained, convinced that whining made her pathetic and nagging and all other sorts of adjectives she associated with unhealthy relationships.

“But you must be enjoying the quiet some,” Garrett teased with far less humor than he had on previous calls. “Are you sure you’re ready for me to ruin that?”

She had been too busy for quiet—and a good thing too—doing her best to stay occupied so that she wouldn’t think about how utterly absurd it was that she couldn’t go a week without pining for the man. She had spent the first two days firmly ignoring her feelings, the next few railing against them and love in general, because if that was love then it was stupid and needy and co-dependent and she didn’t need that kind of bullshit in her life.

No one needed that kind of bullshit in their lives.

“Something like that,” Essa groused in return, kicking in frustration at the covers she had carefully arranged only an hour before. “And I’m more than ready.”

She wanted him home yesterday, but Garrett wasn’t going to make her say it again.

“Are you now?” His deep voice dropped lower with the double entendre. “How ready are we talking?”

Embarrassingly ready? Her body had become a near constant ache for him, hearing him now, voice filled with lazy teasing, only made her miss him more. In every blighted way.

Not that his ego needed that quite yet, but they would get there.

“Slow down there, cowboy.” She grinned when he chuckled. “I’m barely in bed. Tell me about your day.”

“Today was,” Garrett told her, “by and far, the worst all week. Not worth wasting more than a breath.”

Essa set her phone on the bedside table, slipped the tiny earpiece she couldn’t quite decide if she loved or hated into her ear so that her hands were free, before sprawling back onto crisp white sheets. She threw one hand out to light the beeswax candles scattered around the room, and the candle wicks flared, soft blue magefire quickly giving way to tawny gold. He had asked for something special tonight, and, by the Mabari, she was going to do her best.

“Yours?”

“Mine was busy. Lots of work to do around here.”

“You spent the day in the barn didn’t you?” He made a lude comment about her overalls and Essa laughed.

“You make this too easy, Hawke. I had forgotten about the overalls. If I hadn’t, I might not have gone shopping.”

“You went shopping?”

She had surprised him. Essa hid a grin behind her hand, told herself there wasn’t anything so undignified as a giggle waiting behind it.

“Something special you said.”

“Maker’s breath…” The words were soft, hardly above a whisper and each one shivered down her spine. “Tell me you’re wearing something hot, Trevelyan.”  Garrett’s sigh was longsuffering. “Or nothing. Nothing is also good.”

Essa chuckled, shifting the pillows and blankets around on their bed. Their bed…two months and she still couldn’t stop grinning at how easily everything had become theirs. Together.

“It was nothing last night,” she reminded him.

It was the longest they had been apart since he moved into the cottage, and certainly the longest they had gone without sex since the first day of Kingsway. Not that two months was really that long—they were still working through their collection of stick figure kama sutra positions—but it had taken them all of two days to decide to try phone sex. Mostly because Essa’d had far too much fun teasing Garrett about having to take care of herself and he had called her bluff.

_“Let’s hear it, Trevelyan.” There was humor in his voice, but daring too, and the hour was just late enough for her cast aside inhibitions she hadn’t realized she had._

_“There isn’t exactly much to hear,” she teased back. “It isn’t as if I’m shouting down the house at my own skill. ‘oh, Essa, you know exactly what I like, Essa!’”_

_Garrett’s laughter was a sudden boom, had her laughing with him and missing him twice as much._

_“Well, there’s a mental image that’ll keep me warm tonight.” His voice was low as he considered. “Two of you? Fuck,” he chuckled. “You’d have to at least let me watch.”_

_“I have already told you,” Essa snapped with mock primness, “I am not fucking my clone. That would be like having sex with my sister and—“  She broke off at the swift intake of his breath and, knowing full well what he was about to say, interrupted him just as quickly. “Shut up, Hawke! That’s disgusting and if you even pretend like you think that’s hot, I’ll start talking about_ your _sister.”_

_They were snickering together, and then they were both laughing too hard to breathe. Somewhere in the middle of a particularly good threat, he managed to shout “I yield!”_

_“As you should,” Essa smirked. “It’s about time you learned.”_

_“Yeah, yeah, the sisters are off limits.” He sighed heavily. “But now the mood is definitely ruined because you brought up mine.”_

_“Would it help if I told you I’m naked?” Essa offered._

_“Depends on what you mean by ‘help’?”_

They had joked and laughed through most of the foreplay—which really wasn’t exactly unusual for them when they were together—flirtations more stupid and cheerful than erotic until Essa finally realized just how damn wet she was. Maker’s breath, just knowing he was on the other end of the phone listening had added something, imagining his hands on his body where she wanted hers, imagining his hands on her body where she wanted his. It hadn’t taken her long; the hitch in his voice at her first short gasp had left her utterly undone.

“Es?” Garrett sounded amused as he called her back from her thoughts. “You didn’t doze off on me did you? Because that would be the opposite of special.” He yawned loudly. “But I wouldn’t necessarily blame you.”

“I’m awake,” she assured him. “And wearing something ‘especially hot’ just like you asked, but if you want to just fall asleep talking…” she punctuated the offer with a yawn of her own.

The outfit would keep, and so would they.

“No way,” he laughed quietly. “You made promises, woman. I expect you to keep them.”

She could hear the smile in his voice, and wanted so badly to see his face that she almost whimpered.

“I suppose I did.”

She settled back on her pillow, face turned toward his so that she could smell the lingering scent of his shampoo, his hair, the dark warmth that was just  _him._  By the Mabari, she was pathetic, and the worst part was how little she minded.

“Tell me what you bought.”

“Demanding aren’t you?” There it was, that damned giggle. She owed him a kiss…maybe more…for not mentioning it.

“You could just be making something up,” Garrett countered. “For all I know you’re wearing nothing but my old tshirt.”

“ _My_  tshirt,” Essa corrected. “And no, that’s what I was wearing night before last, along with those thigh high socks you love so much.”

Garrett made a sound of distress. She was still a little proud of that one. They had turned the sex into something of an endurance competition and she had outlasted him. He had promised retribution, and she was looking forward to that just a little more than she should have been.

Who was she kidding? She was looking forward to that exactly as much as she should have been.

“I went out and got something new today,” she said, not exactly taking mercy on him. More than one something, in truth. She had never been one for lingerie, but the Satinalia deals at Bethany’s favorite boutique had been too good to pass up. “If you’re very, very good at whatever you have planned tonight…” She dropped her voice toward something she could only hope sounded sultry. “I might put it on again when you come home.”

“Tell me—“ Garrett’s voice was rough. He cleared his throat with obvious effort and Essa grinned. “Dammit, Essa.” He sighed, mumbled under his breath, “tell me what it looks like.”

“Well…” she drawled, leaning up enough to see herself in the mirror. “You know…you could sound less sulky and just a bit more enthusiastic.”

“I couldn’t possibly.”

Essa snorted. “Fine. It’s red.”

“Of course it is.” He didn’t sound entirely happy about it; she knew that was his favorite color on her. “That all you got?”

“And it’s somewhat lacy.” Essa plucked at the low scalloped neckline. “With a ridiculous number of straps.”

“Straps?” Garrett’s laugh chased away his surly tone. “Where the fuck did you go?”

“Some store your—a friend suggested. Fancy little boutique with chiffon and marabou feathers on everything and too much dainty pink. They noted the sneer I couldn’t quite hide and led me into a room in the back…”

She had been both delighted and horrified at the array of black, grey, cobalt, and crimson kept in the back room of the shop like some sort of dark secret.

“And now you’re wearing something…”

“Better suited for that sex dungeon you keep promising to build in the attic.” She tried to keep her voice low, sensual.

And had to bite her lip to keep from laughing when he corrected, “Lair.” He affected another long sigh. “Dragons don’t have dungeons, they have  _lairs_.”

He was very adamant about that, and about how the cottage was hers. He assured her regularly that he was all too willing to be a part of her hoard.

“We aren’t playing dragon and maiden tonight,” she sniffed, tugging at one dark crimson strap.

“That’s not the game,” Garrett huffed; Essa’s grin cracked wider as he continued. “But we’ll keep playing until you get it right.” There was a pause, and she could imagine him sitting up in bed, an overpriced short of whiskey from the hotel room’s mini bar on the table beside him.  When he spoke again, his voice was lower still. “Tell me more about this thing you’re wearing.”

“Oh no.” Essa stretched out on the bed, stared across the dimly lit bedroom toward the window on opposite wall with its double strand of white twinkling lights and crescent moons. “I’ve given you plenty, your turn.”

~*~

Garrett glanced back over his shoulder, double checking that Bethany was indeed knocked out in the back seat of her sedan. She had been snoring lightly for the past hour—not that he was fool enough to ever tell her so—but she had been known to play possum as a child. If she was faking now, she was going to regret it. Garrett didn’t doubt his sister’s ability to make him regret it too.

“I’m afraid I didn’t get to dress for the occasion.” He hated to disappoint Essa, nearly as much as he hated to call a halt to what was turning into a very interesting way to pass the last miles of his drive, but they were nearly home now. He was going to have to warn her before he turned into the driveway, woke the dogs, and scared her half to death.

“But if you had…” Essa coaxed.

If he had been able to plan a proper seduction of Essa Trevelyan? The possibilities were endless. Especially with them living right there on the beach.  He didn’t have to work for ambiance, just a blanket on the headland or the hammock on the porch. A look, a not quite casual touch and the next thing he knew they were lost in each other. Still—

“The suit I wore to Bethany’s award ceremony.”  The words left him in a rush, and Garrett shook his head hard, glaring at the road as he tried to get his runaway imagination back under control

Essa groaned, and Garrett felt that low, rough sound all the way down to his toes. Having spent the entire summer in varying states of increasingly casual dress, he had been unprepared for how the effect that simple black suit had had on Essa. He hadn’t worn a tie, nor had he buttoned his white dress shirt properly. Decisions he hadn’t regretted one bit as she had spent most of the night staring at him. Garrett had, in turn, spent the evening imagining all the ways he could use that suit to his advantage.

“Wouldn’t you be a little over-dressed, Hawke?” she asked, just breathless enough that he had a moment to preen before she destroyed him completely. “The saleswoman kept using words like ‘harness’ and ‘body cage’ but I’m hardly wearing more than a bunch stretchy straps and a few scraps of lace.”

He couldn’t imagine her in such a thing, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t trying.  Essa liked lace, tended to wear sinful scraps of it under even her most mundane of outfits, but that was for her, that he benefited was just a happy bonus. This was something else. This was…deliberately for him.

He had to swallow hard, not once but twice, before he could reply, “That’s the point, Trevelyan. It’s all about the contrasts.” And that contrast, Garrett was certain, would kill him. He wished now that he had taken his suit with him on assignment. He was damn well wearing it home the next time he had business out of town.

“Well, I hope you like, it” she was laughing hard now, that particular throaty laugh she got when they were fooling around as much as well…fooling around, “because you’re going to have to fuck me in it.”

Garrett almost swallowed his tongue, but she continued as if she didn’t know exactly what that coarse admission would do to him. “…because it is a pain in the damn ass to put on. Literally.”

“Literally?” Garrett asked, impressed when the word didn’t emerge as a squeak. He glanced in the rearview mirror, told himself that he would put a stop to this madness soon. Just one more mile.

“I have a welt on one ass cheek,” she declared, oblivious to his distress, and Garrett reached for humor instead of dwelling on that particular mental image.

“I didn’t know you were into that.”

“We’ll have to see,” she giggled, and he knew well the frown that quickly followed. “But I will not be tossing this thing back off over the side of the bed like I do my tshirt.”

“So…,” Garrett mused, trying to think of a way to steer the conversation. “You’re wrapped up like a Satinalia present?” Satinalia was safe. Satinalia would have her grumbly instead of laughing and warm and wanton. “You getting into the holiday spirit without me?”

“Not likely,” Essa mumbled.

Garrett breathed a sigh of relief, tried to think very unsexy thoughts. “Is there a bow?”

He had threatened to tie a bow on one of his favorite appendages to surprise her once; she had threatened him with dismemberment.

“There is no bow,” Essa snickered.

“Not a string of tinsel?” Garrett asked. “Not a strand of lights?”

He had left a huge box of Satinalia decorations on the floor of their now guest room, but he hadn’t actually expected her to do anything with them.

“Not my favorite holiday,” she reminded him, but she had said the same about Kissing Day, and she hadn’t yet taken off the bracelet he had made her. Garrett reached up, brushed his fingers over the small white cockle shell dangling at his throat. “Though I did make a few batches of cookie dough for you. They’re in the freezer.”

She had made him cookies. For a moment Garrett’s vision blurred. He told himself, blinking furiously, that it was eye strain, fatigue, anything but the sudden tightness in his chest.

“Garrett? Still with me?”

“I’m always with you,” he said, hoping she would call them both on the sentimental bullshit before things got completely out of hand. His sister was in the car for Andraste’s sake! “Thank you for the cookie dough.”

“You’re welcome.” Her voice was far too warm, far too understanding. “It’s just sugar cookie, and one gingerbread, but we still have a million sprinkles left over from Kissing Day—“

Fucking blight. The phone sex foreplay had been safer. “Are you trying to change the subject?” Garrett demanded.

“From what?” Essa replied, a touch too sharply and Garrett could all but see her scowl.

“I mean, I wasn’t going to ask for pics…”

Though how the play by play of Essa in a red body harness had become safer conversational territory than cookie dough was beyond him.

“Liar!” Essa sang immediately. “I’ve already taken them too, I’m just trying to decide if I should send them to you.”

“You did not!”

But he could see that too, far too clearly. Essa standing in front of the antique standing mirror she had refinished those few fraught weeks when they had been avoiding each other that summer. He had moved it to the foot of the bed one night, standing it at one corner half in askance, half in dare and they hadn’t moved it since. Some nights, the view alone nearly ruined him.

“I did,” she confirmed proudly. “Considering I only had the mirror and your selfie stick, I can’t say they turned out badly.”

He could see her too damned clearly, turning this way and that, a smug little grin ruining—perfecting—whatever serious shot she was trying for. Garrett bit his lip, began repeating his sister’s name over and over in his head.

“I might even get some printed out for you,” Essa added. “Are boudoir photos an appropriate Satinalia gift?”

Fuck him. Garrett focused on the upcoming mile marker. Just one more and he would tell her he was nearly home.

“Sure?”

“I mean, they’re amateur at best, and honestly, it’s all a little ridiculous,” Essa rambled on, ruining Garrett’s already tenuous resolve.

At least she sounded more silly than sexy at the moment. Not that that really helped. Silly was sexy. Impossibly sexy. Why had he agreed to let his sister sleep in the guest room once they made it to Seaside?

“But I kinda love it? I mean, there are a ton of straps and I probably can’t get out of it on my own so I’ll probably still be wearing it when you get home. Luckily there are all sorts of…openings of opportunity so I should be okay.”

“I shouldn’t have asked.” Garrett stared out the windshield. “Es…I know you don’t like surprises, but…”

The cheerful prattle stopped immediately. “But…?”

“I don’t want you running out of the house in something that might render me incapable of walking across the yard.”

“WHAT? You’re home?!?”

The excitement in her voice was a not-too-distant second to the image that greeted his eyes. Garrett slowed Bethany’s sedan to a crawl, breathed slowly through his nose.

“We just turned onto the lane,” he said roughly.

In the shadow of the darkened lighthouse, the cottage shone like a beacon, white and gold string lights twinkling around the windows and doors. The porch lights were on, and there were too many paper lanterns to count swinging in the salty wind. There were lights on the barn as well, on the white wooden fence that ran around Essa’s garden, and he could see smoke rising from the squat red smoker on the back porch.

“Essa?”

“What?” she sounded surly, which Garrett figured was just about perfect.

“You decorated for Satinalia.”

He didn’t hear what she said next. The words faded in and out and then she was gone, only to burst out the back door a moment later, cotton robe flying around her, four mabari right on her heels voices lifted in glad barks.

“You’re home!” She shouted at the car, nearly crashing through the gate.

Garrett had to hit the brakes hard to keep from mowing her and Caleb down.

“Fucking  _BLIGHT,_ Trevelyan!”

Bethany was swearing sleepily from the back seat as Garrett threw the car into park. He nearly tripped getting out, and Essa nearly toppled them both as she leapt up into his arms.

“You’re home.” Her arms and legs were fast around him. Garrett shifted her grapple a little higher, arms beneath a rather strategically bare ass. He pulled her robe back down over his arms as they clung to one another. “I’ll deny it later, dammit, but I’m so glad you’re home.”

The words were warm against his neck, her body a solid weight against his and Garrett held on tight, certain they would have bruises from how hard they clutched at one another. Her lips were moving over his face, kisses falling as light as snowflakes and in a near constant flurry. He tried to catch her mouth with his and managed to catch the bottom curve of her lip.

“I’m home,” he agreed between kisses more exuberant than lustful. “Maker’s breath, it’s good to be home.”

There weren’t words, though he had learned with Essa that those weren’t generally necessary anyway. Caleb and Pepper crowded against his legs and Garrett tried to keep his balance.

“They missed you too,” Essa said, with considerably less resentment. Her hands were everywhere, clasping his biceps, cupping his cheeks. She scattered kisses over his chin, grey eyes shining like stars. “I’m going to be so mad at you later,” she warned.

He didn’t believe her for a minute, and he could see from the broad grin breaking her scowl that she didn’t either.

“What in the void for?” The question was muffled against her jaw. “I’ve been home all of forty seconds and you’re mad at me?”

He hadn’t yet stopped kissing her—he hadn’t yet kissed her properly—but Garrett didn’t really care. She was warm and solid in his arms and that was all that mattered. Andraste’s ass, they were as bad as the mabari who were even now at their feet waiting not so patiently for their love and pats.

“Making me decorate for this blighted holiday.” Essa nipped his bottom lip, finally going still. She closed her eyes, forehead bumping softly against his.

“No one makes Essa Trevelyan do anything,” Bethany grumbled as she tumbled out of the car. “Maker’s breath, you two are disgusting.”

An unavoidable truth there, but Garrett didn’t see any point in elaborating on it.

“Thank you, Bethany,” he said instead. He knew the words were inadequate—she had driven halfway across the Marches on one of the worst travel days of the year—but he also knew he would have done the same for her.

“Gold,” she reminded him. “Jewels.”

Essa’s brows rose in query.

“I may have made some exorbitant promises when she showed up at the airport,” Garrett admitted sheepishly.

“Nothing too exorbitant.” Essa shook her head. “I’ll refinish your kitchen cabinets,” she offered.

Garrett watched Bethany’s bleary eyes light. She had been after Essa for months now. “Really?”

“The least I can do,” Essa said, and Garrett realized his offer of fine metals and precious gems was about to get upstaged.

“I’ll help,” he volunteered, shifting Essa in his arms. She dropped her legs slowly, made a torturous slide down his body to land lightly on her feet.

Bethany’s eyes narrow shrewdly. “That doesn’t get you out of the shinies.”

Essa smirked up at him.

“I wouldn’t think that it did,” he said, pressing another pair of kisses to Essa’s temple.

Maker’s breath, she smelled good, and he was pretty certain that whatever she was wearing beneath that worn cotton jersey robe was going to keep him awake most of the night.

“I love you both,” Bethany muttered, sounding like she meant the exact opposite as she trudged toward the house. “Essa, the headlights cut straight through that robe of yours.” She waved one sleep-drunken hand in their general direction. “And I swear if the two of you have sex on the hood of my car I will murder you.” She yawned widely. “Tomorrow. Later today. Whatever.”

“You brought him home.” Essa caught her arm as she passed, dragging Bethany into a group hug that she only half protested. “We owe you so much more than an undefiled car.”

“Cabinets,” Bethany’s laugh was half-exasperation. “Jewelry.”

“Both,” Garrett promised.

“Happy Satinalia.” Bethany hugged them back, complaining the entire time about being clutched to bosoms or suffocated between brawny arms, but she didn’t make any effort to get away.

“We don’t deserve you,” Essa told her, when they finally let go.

“No, you don’t,” Bethany retorted, tossing her long black hair back over one shoulder. Then she frowned. “Okay, you do. You both do.” She scrubbed one hand over her face. “I need sleep. You jerks are making me sentimental.”

“Can’t have that,” Garrett said, dropping a kiss to her cheek. “Goodnight, Beth.”

“Goodnight.”

She stumbled toward the gate, near dead on her feet as she weaved toward the cottage. Essa took two steps toward her, and Garrett took the opportunity to crouch down, passing out chin scratches and head pats before Bethany waved her off.

“I’m fine,” Bethany huffed. “Just stiff from sleeping in the car. I just need a good night’s sleep.” She paused at the gate, cast a forbidding stare back over her shoulder. “Do not wake me up with your murder screams, Essa. Have quiet sex tonight or something.”

“Murder screams?!” Essa objected hotly, turning back to glare at Garrett.

“If I’m doing it right, yeah…” he shrugged, pushing to his feet before Caleb could leave his face any stickier with mabari slobber than he already had. “Sometimes it sounds like I’m killing you.”

“Fuck me,” Essa swore, cheeks brighter than the festive lighting.

“In a few minutes.” Garrett reached for her again, watched her smile curve soft and sweet. He wrapped gentle fingers around one wrist, tugged her gently into his arms. “But right now I want…”

He needed a minute. A breath or six with her in his arms and the Spirit of Satinalia shining like a beacon from their home. It was, of course, so much more than tinsel and lights and lanterns. So much more than the sugary scent of gingerbread spilling out through the open back door.

“Oh this is bad,” Essa sighed, wrapping both arms around his waist and holding tight. “This is so much worse than being sex starved.”

“So much worse,” he agreed. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “You really did all this for me?”

“I did. Though the kids helped with the tree.”

“There’s a tree?”

“Of sorts,” she said, placing a kiss over his heart. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“You, Essa Trevelyan, are a constant surprise.”

She scowled up at him. “I called Varric. He’s bringing the whole gang out tomorrow for Satinalia Eve. Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know…like I’m the star at the top of the tree or something.”

“Is there a star on top of the tree?” he asked.

“No, there’s a mabari. Dammit, Garrett.”

“Come here.” He drew her closer still, pulling her up on her toes until she melted against him with a sigh. “I love you.” He kissed her gently now that his heart wasn’t crowding his throat, now that his lips weren’t trembling. “Thank you.”

“Happy Satinalia,” Essa sighed, lips soft and clinging. “I still hate this blighted holiday.”

“Not tonight you don’t.” He grinned down at her, watched her smile light her eyes even as she glowered back.

“No, not tonight.”


	11. There's No Place Like Home For the Holidays 3/3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 of Essa x Garrett's first Satinalia together. Fluff. Smut. NSFW. Humor of the usual to these two crude variety. 
> 
> this was a four parter on tumblr, but that was only because part three ran long. I think 6k isn't too much for one chapter on ao3 though.

The first time Essa woke, she awoke to kisses. Cool lips whispering over sleep-warm skin, wordless wonderings traveling in lazy eddies, promises and pleasure dragging her gently from the Fade. She lingered there, on that soft dreamy edge, unhurried, unrushed beyond the glory building slowly within her at every careful and creative touch. There was magic in his hands, for all that he so often accused them of brutality, and she arched up into solid press of his body, mumbling praise and gratitude and coarse demands for more.

Always more. She didn’t think she would ever get enough of what they had found together.

 _Insatiable woman._ The cool puff of laughter drifted over her ribs, words too low and sweet to count as spoken, but she heard them just the same. Garrett bit gently at the underside of her breasts, hands trailing lower to grasp her hips as she moved against him, making pleas and promises of her own. His nails scratched lightly at her hip bones, drew a moan from her throat as they shifted together, every leisurely movement an early morning luxury, a miracle of hazy grace and new discoveries and precious habits forming. When their bodies finally fit together in a slow wondrous slide, Essa sighed.

_Perfect._

_You’re perfect,_ he corrected _._ Gladness there, his voice dark and rich with affection.

 _I’m not._ The words were a croak, her voice rough with disuse and filling with laughter even as they began to move more quickly together, desire building, lust rising with sudden, not wholly unexpected, urgency.

_You are for me._

It was not yet dawn and the cottage lay quiet as a chantry on the headland by a the waking, murmuring sea. When she finally opened her eyes, it was to see Garrett’s smile gilded in Satinalia lights. His eyes filled with love caught, doubled, and reflected.

“I love you,” Essa said on a gasp as pleasure rose, sharp and bright and wonderfully consuming. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“I love you.” He dipped his head down, brushed her lips with his, as his muscles tightened, bliss ravaging the depths of his gaze. “It’s good to be home.”

~*~

“I hate you, Garrett Hawke. GO AWAY.”

“Essa.”

There was no trace of laughter in his voice, but Essa could all but feel it, hovering in the air like the snowflakes he had asked for not thirty seconds before, voice rising and falling in a terrible rendition of Princess Ana’s “Do you want to build a snowman?” He’d replaced most of the lyrics with bawdy suggestions that—had their solace not been about to be interrupted—she might have been game for trying. As it was, she had about twenty minutes of peace left, and she was hoarding those moments.

On pain of death.

“I mean it, Hawke.” It’s not like there was any snow to be had, and even if she and Bethany used every bit of magic they had, they wouldn’t be able to fill the yard with enough for a snow man. “The Fade is not a toy.”

“That’s not what you said—“

“I will kill you!” Essa interrupted fiercely. “Maim you.”

Maker’s breath, if Bethany—serious mage and proper healer that she was—caught wind of that little adventure,  she would turn them over to the Templars. Blood magic was bad enough; Essa was pretty sure—at least for Bethany—that sex magic would be a big no-no.

“You don’t mean it,” Garrett said.

Of course she didn’t; he didn’t have to sound so damned smug about it.

“I most certainly do,” Essa insisted.

“I have coffee…”

As bribes went, it wasn’t a bad one. Especially when Garrett used his deep voice to shameless effect. Essa swore under her breath, burrowing back under covers she definitely didn’t need. The bed sank beside her with his weight and she kicked out one foot, leg tangling in the sheets, heel falling soft against his thigh.

“It’s not as bad as all that,” he continued, catching her ankle in his broad, steady hands, rubbing one thumb along the taut arch of her foot, loosening a week’s worth of tension and sending little shock waves of ecstasy dashing north. Essa groaned, swore. Swore again. Fucking blight. Even her sex imagery was starting to sound like a damned Satinalia myth. Dashing, indeed. Next thing there would be gleaming and shushing or some other nonsense.

“It’s worse,” Essa grumbled from the too-warm nest of mabari and duvet. Beside her Caleb growled companionably. She knew the exact moment that Garrett ignored the dog’s pretense of ire to rub his ear with the same unfaltering bribery. Caleb’s growl fell into a low rumbling groan of doggy delight.

Traitor.

“It’s too fucking early,” she added.

And it was utterly ridiculous that Garrett was awake before her. He had been damn close to exhaustion the night before and hasty, clumsy, Essa’s enjoyment firmly muffled behind his hand, reunion sex notwithstanding,  _she_  should have been the first one up this morning.

“You’ve been home less than eight hours, Hawke.”

“I know.” He still sounded unbelievably pleased with that first part, and Essa was too. He was home. This was home, and in far more ways than those simple words could really encompass.

“And what did I tell you I wanted?” she demanded, sticking one hand out from under the covers for the cup of coffee she knew he had brought her.

“Sex and sleep.” Laughter lay soft as starlight in his reply. “Which we’ve managed that first bit twice in the paltry hours since I got back,” he reminded her happily. “Even if we didn’t manage quite enough of the second.”

Fortunately, they were both of the same mind there. They would sacrifice sleep for sex any day of the week. Two or three times on the weekend.

“Followed by?” Essa prompted. Her demands—if completely unrealistic—had been clear.

“Followed by more sex and more sleep with interruptions only for hydration and food.”  

He pressed the travel tumbler into her outstretched hand and Essa yanked it back under the blanket, holding it close to her face and inhaling the fragrant steam.

“This is none of those things,” she snarled, lest he remember how easily she could be persuaded with good coffee.

“But you also went to a great deal of trouble to plan Satinalia Eve for me,” he reminded her, “and we have visitors arriving in less than an hour.”

“I hate you,” Essa grumbled. “I hate your—"

Garrett cleared his throat in reprove.

“ _Our_ ,” Essa amended, scowling through her fist sip of a truly beautiful single origin that deserved so much better, “stupid friends and this stupid day and—" She broke off on another groan, wiggling her ass at him, more mabari wag than sensual temptation. “Are you sure you can’t come back to bed?”

“Es…it’s Satinalia.” It was the insufferable patience that made her surly. Each syllable shaped gently, coaxing and cajoling when she had been hoping for a fight. Not a real one of course, but a harmless argument over their overwrought schedule—that was her fault, mind,  _hers_ —might have made her feel better,  might have even given her a bit of wiggle room in the long, tedious day that waited, no doubt gravid with Satinalia misery yet to come. “It’s the season of goodwill,” he continued, as Essa threw a pillow at him from beneath her blanket shield. “Not…whatever this is.”

He was laughing at her, the ass.

“Sex or sleep, Hawke.”

It was too fucking early for goodwill. The cottage was silent yet, the sun a pale slant through nearly bare windows. Most of the dogs had already abandoned the bed. There was only Caleb left to kick out; there was still hope for another romp before the day fully intruded.

“I’ll make you breakfast,” Garrett bartered.

“Are you turning me down?” Essa demanded in outrage. Caleb—loyal beast that he usually was—began digging under the blankets to reach her.

“Only for the next half hour,” Garrett retorted. “I didn’t let you sleep that long—“

“Just long enough for Caleb to sneak back in.” She glared at the puppy. “You were waiting at the door weren’t you, you little pervert?”

Garrett chuckled. “He was. So unless you’re going to resort to using magic on my penis…”

Now there was an idea. Essa fumbled for the bedside table, managed to get her coffee cup settled without spilling any.

“And we both know that’s a slippery slope,” Garrett continued, as if he weren’t fully aware that she was about to pounce on him. “Though,” he chuckled thoughtfully. “A slippery slope is always good.”

No argument there.

“Your penis,” Essa declared, throwing the covers back and disturbing Caleb enough that mabari sighed—loudly—abandoning his quest for morning snuggles with Essa and stalking to the end of the bed, “is hardly the peak of your talents, Hawke.”

“You wound me!” And oh, the show he made, clutching as his heart, stumbling toward the bed and then away.

“Not yet, I haven’t.” Essa was giggling when she grabbed him by one wrist, yanking him into the rumpled covers of their bed. They rolled together, a tangle of arms and legs and sun-bleached cotton. When they finally settled, Garrett a solid weight above her, Essa shoved the sheets from his face, found his grin waiting and wonderful and hers.

“You have two perfectly good hands,” she continued blithely, “and a mouth that only ever seems to stop—“

Garrett leaned in, brushed his lips along her jaw, slow, maddening, waiting for her words to stutter into silence.

Essa glared at him.“—being infuriating…when—“

She couldn’t breathe. Where had her breath gone? Garrett nibbled a line up to her ear, sucked lightly at her earlobe. Essa closed her eyes lest he see how close they were to crossing. Fuck, what had she been complaining about?

“When…?” Garrett prompted helpfully, mockery woven through his implacable calm.

Shit. Essa squirmed, trying to get enough space between them that she might hope to think clearly long enough to answer him. Oh, yes.

“When I give it something to do other than talk!” she rallied triumphantly.

Garrett rolled his eyes. Not that she blamed him. The sex was great, but by the Mabari, the talking was the best damn part.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re a terrible liar, Trevelyan?”

His smirk was a thing of beauty, cheeks high, dimples sinking deep beneath an extra day’s worth of beard. His brown eyes crinkled at the corners, damn near twinkling. She was about to kiss him when he propped up on his arms and the Little Mermaid smiled down at her from an obviously new tshirt.

“UGHHH….” Essa covered her face. “Sera’s here.”

Garrett laughed. “She’s in the kitchen staring through the oven door at the bacon I just put in.”

So they had ten minutes…tops. Surely that was time enough to reward him for making breakfast.

“You can do a lot in ten minutes,” Essa said.

His hand was already at the hem of her panties. “I can.” Garrett leaned down, pressed his grin to curve of her throat. “Can you be quiet?”

“Void, no, she cannot be quiet,” Bethany snapped from their open bedroom door.

Essa had to hand it to him, Garrett moved fast. He had both hands over her bare breasts before Bethany could shift the full magnitude of her glare from her brother to Essa. If the gesture wasn’t entirely rooted in a concern for her nonexistent modesty, she couldn’t really complain at the results.

“Maker! How are you two so cute even when you’re being lechers?”

“She called us cute,” Garrett pronounced at the same time Essa offered, “I can have him move them.”

Bethany’s blue eyes lifted to the ceiling. “I don’t have the cash to throw at you,” she said drily. “And Sera will insist.”

“Damn right,” Sera said, from just behind Bethany. “I think your bacon’s burning, Hawke.”

Bethany turned away quickly as Garrett scrambled up from the bed, giving Essa a brief teasing squeeze before he released her. Essa threw one arm across her breasts and tried for a put-upon look, teeth sinking into her bottom lip to keep from grinning as Garrett rushed through the cottage, Bethany following along behind him demanding coffee and treasure and whatever else she had definitely earned by bringing him home the night before.

“Here.” A swatch of once bright yellow cotton jersey hit Essa squarely in the face. Sera clambored up on the bed as Essa struggled upright. “It’s as much for him as you, thought it might be worth a laugh.”

Essa stared at the  _Fine Whines and Lickers_ tshirt. More than a laugh. She and Garrett hadn’t exactly hit it off the first time they met—or the second for that matter—but that hadn’t stopped him from harboring some rather well-developed fantasies of her in the much too small tshirt she had been wearing.

“This is yours.” They never had found Essa’s. She had acquired another half dozen over the years but the font for the logo of their favorite mabari rescue had certainly changed, and not since that first year had they ever used that particular shade of noxious yellow.

“Oi, well I don’t have a need for it, now do I?” Sera leered as Essa pulled the shirt on over her head. “I cut the sleeves off. Never did get that ketchup stain out.”

“Sera.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s going to owe you so much for this.”

“Oi.” Sera giggled, eyebrows waggling with lascivious glee. “One of you will.” She leveled a surprisingly stern glare at Essa, held the serious expression for just long enough to deliver her next line. “I don’t want to hear about it, yeah?”

Then she booped Essa on the nose.

“We don’t actually overshare that much,” Essa protested.

“You don’t overshare at all,” Sera retorted. “But now that he’s got you being all social, we see things.” She swiped Essa’s coffee from the bedside table, glared at her over the rim as she took a sip. “We hear things.”

“You could go home,” Essa suggested cheerfully.  The scent of bacon wafted through from the kitchen and her stomach growled.

“And miss this?” Sera boggled at her, blue eyes wide and filled with glee. Essa was afraid to ask, though that didn’t mean she wouldn’t.

“Miss what?”

“SNOWMAN BUILDING.”

“There’s no snow!” Essa shouted, grabbing her coffee cup back.

“There’s sand,” Sera pointed out helpfully. “Dagna’s already getting started.”

Dagna—who could sculpt damned near anything out of metal—was no slouch with sand. She had won Kirkwall’s annual sandcastle competition three years in a row. Essa had to hand it to Garrett, spending Satinalia Eve morning down on the beach was certainly her kind of holiday compromise.

“And a little snow,” Garrett said, from the bedroom door. He was holding a giant cookie sheet piled high with—

“Is that shaved ice?” Essa asked.

“I got four buckets of it from Seanna.” His gaze was firmly on Essa’s tshirt. “We owe Sera money.”

“Too right you do!” Sera pushed past, dashing back to the kitchen. “But I’ll take payment in the form of bacon.”

“Don’t eat all of it,” Garrett called after her. “Some of that’s for Essa!”

“Then she’d better hurry!”

Essa dragged on a pair of linen pajama pants, lips twitching. By the Mabari they were a noisy lot, but she couldn’t be honest with herself and not admit how much she loved them.

“You were serious about the snowman,” she said, wiggling her fingers in warning, reaching out to place her hand on the bottom of the cookie sheet, adding a mild spell of cold to keep the ice from melting.

“I’m serious about everything.”

“Liar!” Sera and Bethany’s voice sang from the kitchen.

“Whatever,” Garrett laughed. “Come on. I got all the red syrups so you can make them bloody.”

“Abominable snowmen,” Sera crowed.

~*~

They were calling for an unseasonably warm Firstfall, and as the sun crept high over the shore, Satinalia Eve was shaping up to be one of the hottest on record. There had been a crisp bite in the southern wind the night before, but that was rapidly melting into memory.

Garrett was having a hard time minding. He might not have his toes in the water—it wasn’t quite  _that_  warm—but his ass was in the sand and the Waking Sea was a brilliant blue just a few shades lighter than his Satinalia tshirt. There were carols ringing in the air—some beachy holiday playlist that Sera had come up with just for the occasion—and his favorite fire mage was currently dancing around in the most Maker-awful pair of cutoff overalls the Free Marches had ever seen. The bright yellow tshirt under them was a teenager’s late night wish, and she had his old straw cowboy hat crushed down on top of her head. There wasn’t snow, but there was plenty of sand, and when they got through playing in that, there were abominable shaved ice snow men waiting to be eaten.

“How are we doing?” Essa called, as she wound a Ravenclaw House scarf around the jolly fat neck of a rather impressive snow…well,  _sand_  man.

Dagna had outdone herself.

The sculptures were pretty run of the mill—well they would have been if they’d been made of snow—each made up of three spheres that appeared stacked. There were four of them, a short squat dwarf, a not quite so short, slim elf, a very curvy human exactly Essa’s height, and a giant qunari with impressively sculpted horns close to the scalp. Garrett couldn’t quite believe how much they had gotten done in the short stretch of morning, but Dagna had been barking orders like a drill sergeant until the base forms had taken shape. Now that was done, her tools were packed up and she was sitting beside Garrett, sharing a beer while Sera , Essa, Merrill, and Bethany took the easy part.

“Looks great!” Garrett said. “She needs a hat.”

Essa yanked her hat off, giving her head a little shake as all that long brown hair came tumbling down. There were sun streaks still, probably always would be. She tossed him a wink when she caught him staring. She kept threatening to cut it, and he had told her—and meant it—that he didn’t care what she did with it, but damned if they hadn’t both been enjoying it long.

“Better?”

“Better.”

“She needs more than a hat,” Varric muttered.

He and Isabela had been sitting with Garrett and Dagna, though they had spent most of the morning engrossed in whatever Varric was writing in his latest notebook. They were supposed to be working on a Satinalia story to read later that night, but Bela was editing, and she kept glancing between him and Essa with a sly grin. Garrett had to admit he was a little nervous.

The last time Bela and Varric collaborated, they had written Lord of the Rings friend fic. Essa had been more than happy with her role as one of the horse lords, but Garrett could have done without his role as pining princess.

He really needed to stop singing Disney Princess power ballads on karaoke night.

“Still can’t believe you lost your head to a country girl.” Isabela dropped down to the beach chair beside him, passed him and Dagna another round of cold beers.

“Merrill wears shoes all marginally more than Essa,” Garrett pointed out drily.

None of them were wearing shoes now. There were flowers crowning the sandelf and someone had put Varric’s flip-flops on the sand-dwarf. He was also wearing the Iron Bull’s ugly Satinalia hat, which was about two sizes two big, even for a giant, round, sand head. Someone—Sera, it was Sera—had stuck an empty beer bottle in each of the holes for Bull’s horns, and the green glass glittered merrily. So far, only the sand-qunari bore any elegance, but Bethany had claimed that one for herself. She had spent most of the morning combing the beach for the perfect seashells and sea glass for buttons and jewelry, all the while threatening Sera and Essa’s lives if they so much as breathed on her Lady Inquisitor.

“You’re taking all the fun out of this, Beth-a-ny.” Essa drew Beth’s name out in an obnoxious whine and Garrett stuck his tongue in his cheek to keep from laughing.

“You have an elf, a dwarf, and a human,” Bethany retorted. “Do whatever you want to them, the qunari is mine.”

“Can’t say you’d have to twist my arm there.”

The Iron Bull, for whom Garrett was finding an increasing fondness the more he got to know him, was a notorious and calculating flirt. It had taken Garrett long to realize how much of the man was carefully orchestrated play, every word, every gesture chosen with care. They were more alike than he would have initially thought; he had been having some considerable fun teasing Essa about having a type.

“That was almost a pretty compliment, Iron Bull.”

Bethany leveled a sharp glare at him, then nodded at the stack of costuming Essa and Garrett had brought down from the cottage. Bull immediately grabbed the silk scarf on top and passed it to Bethany, with a rumble of appreciation for bossy women.

“Bossy?” Beth asked, one dark brow reaching up. “Is that silver tongue of yours getting tarnished?”

There was a round of  _ohs_ , one “oh snap” from Sera that had everyone laughing. Bull scrubbed one hand over his face, ducking his head in a brazen display of sheepishness no one believed.

“Rough night?” Bethany asked, taking the scarf from him and draping it artfully around the qunari-lady’s head. “That new professor still making you work for it?”

Garrett listened with one ear as his sister proceeded to give romantic advice to the one person Garrett wouldn’t have thought would ever need it, listened to the other as Sera and Merrill tried to get Essa to sing along with what was truly the worst version of <> he had ever heard.

“You want me to sing Satinalia songs,” Essa ordered sharply, “you find me one by Jon Bon Jovi, otherwise, leave me to my grinchness.”

“Oh, Essa,” Dagna giggled from beside Garrett. “You shouldn’t have said that.”

Sera was all but cackling with holiday glee as she raced over her beach blanket. She dove for her phone like she was scoring a winning goal, Essa right behind her.

“I am not singing.”

She and Sera wrestled for the phone, and whatever devotion they lacked to the actual tussle they made up for with pinches and tickles and threats to tender bits. Bull made a sound of appreciation and Dagna demanded an exorbitant sum as payment for his enjoyment.

“Oh, you’ll sing,” Sera threatened, elbowing Essa in the stomach. “I’ve got just the one too. You better finish up your snowman while you can.”

Not one to admit defeat gracefully, Essa stomped back across the sand. She was cheating, using magic to sprinkle snow over her rather festive looking sandman when the music changed from steel drums and satinalia mabari to none other than Mr. Jon Bon Jovi crooning  Please Come Home For Satinalia.

“I HATE THIS SONG!” Essa screeched.

“YOU HAVE TO SING!” Sera shouted.

Essa couldn’t sing for shit—it was one of the things Garrett loved most about her—but she was known for screaming along with Mr. Bon Jovi on drunken karaoke nights. She danced too, and only slightly better, blamed the beats and “that soulful voice” for whatever her hips might do. Merrill and Bethany were already dancing together, swaying and laughing as Essa glared across the sand at Garrett as if he had somehow wronged her.

“Someone,” Dagna announced quietly beside him, “may have fried her radio yesterday because of this exact song.”

“She didn’t.” Garrett tried very hard not to gape, tried and failed not to feel more than a little gratified that he hadn’t been the only one moping.

“She did.” Fin had finally joined them, which meant lunch was ready up at the cottage. “You’re not going to make her sing by herself are you?”

There was considerable teasing as Garrett pushed to his feet. Essa was still arguing with Sera, but she was also dancing in place and Sera was halfway through the first verse, each line more taunt than blues.

“What’s this I hear about a radio?”

He caught Essa as she spun, indignation in her eyes sharp as a knife’s silver smile.

“Who told you?” she asked, scowl and grin at war as he pulled her into a quick box step, before settling them into what might pass for a waltz.

“ _Choirs will be singing…”_ Garrett sang the line just a little too loudly, gave her a wink.

“Oh, you’re going to be insufferable about this aren’t you?” She clunked her forehead to his chest. The next lines of the song were muffled against his tshirt.

“I am.” Garrett brushed a kiss to the top of her head. “ _Friends and relations…”_

He spun Essa out from him and their friends and relations shouted an assortment of bawdy cheers and holiday salutations.

“I hate all of you,” Essa declared without any heat.

“We love you too!” Sera sang.

Garrett didn’t think anyone was really singing by that point. Fin had cut in on Bethany and Merrill, and now he and Beth were wrapped together, more hug than dance but content enough. Merrill was sitting on Isabela’s lap humming along with the song, while Bull and Sera stumbled through some half-dance half-wrestling maneuvers and threatened the world with mayhem.

“I know it’s not an old-fashioned white Satinalia like you used to have in Ferelden,” Essa said, twining her arms around Garrett’s neck and dancing just a little too close for polite company. “But how are we doing?”

It was early in the day yet. Fenris, Aveline, Donnic, and the kids were coming in later that afternoon. Essa’s sister Cari and Cullen would be there in time for dinner. Those of the Chargers who didn’t make it for the meal would be by afterward for a bonfire and marshmallow roast.

“Could have used some snow,” he said, dipping her back over his arm, bringing her back up to drop a kiss on the end of her nose. “Maybe gotten you into one of those furry hats with the ear flaps….maybe a thermal union suit.”

“Those giant onesies with the ass flap?!” Essa snorted. “You have some weird costume fetishes, Hawke. Anyone ever tell you that?”

Garrett laughed. “There’s a lot we could with that flap.”

Essa rolled her eyes. “There’s a lot we could do naked or you know…without a house full of people for the foreseeable future.”

She took lead, pushed him through a turn beneath her arm that he had to duck to make.

“I’ll kick them out if you want me to.”

“You will not,” Essa snickered. “We have a house full of food they have to eat.” She tugged him close again, bare toes brushing against his. “You know I don’t really mind, right?”

“I know.” She liked to grumble, and Maker knew he liked making her grumble and pout and swear. “You know, Es. This might be the best Satinalia I’ve ever had?”

“Sandmen, zombie cookies, Grinchy girlfriend and all?” She was smiling up at him, the sun on her face, a salt breeze teasing her hair.

“You’re not as grinchy as you think you are,” he said, pulling her up on her toes, kissing her as she scowled.

“You take that back, Hawke.” She kicked him lightly in the shin. “Or no barn sex with the hot stablehand later.”

“We have a hot stable hand?” he teased; Essa’s retaliation was immediate. “Oww! Ow! No pinching, woman!”

“Hey, Essa,” Bethany called. “Try this. It’s better than a pinch and more seasonally appropriate.”

Garrett looked up from his and Essa’s half-ass tussle just in time to see his sister lob a perfectly formed snowball Essa’s way. He made a grab for it, saw her smirk just before her legs tangled deliberately with his. He hit the ground hard, grateful for the soft beach sand. Essa sprawled on top of him, snowball held aloft in one softly glowing hand.

“That is a gross misuse of magic,” Garrett objected, making a grab for it.

Essa pushed back, body curving like a poem as she kept the snowball just out of reach.

“Pants or shirt?” she called to Bethany.

His sister groaned. “I can’t believe I’m encouraging you to go anywhere near his pants, but…"

“Don’t you dare!” Garrett roared…well, squeaked. She had already made a grab for him, and her usually warm fingers were cold as they slipped beneath the waistband of his jeans. “Essa…”

He didn’t stand a chance. Essa wrestled like a mabari and had twice the upper body strength. He could have stopped her—maybe—but not without one of them getting hurt. She got him pinned, one elbow in his face, the other in his ribs and Garrett was trying very hard not to enjoy the struggle too much or too obviously when she stuffed the snowball down the front of his jeans.

“Fucking blight!”

Whatever enjoyment there had been, it was gone now, shriveled up like…well…like a penis in the snow. Essa grinned triumphantly as Garrett yelped and swore.

“Still missing the snow?” she asked, standing over him, hands on her hips, a supremely pleased expression on her face.

“I am most certainly not missing the snow. You’re going to pay for that, you know.”

“Ha! You and what army? Bethany’s not going to arm you.”

No, he didn’t imagine she was, but— “There’s a whole ocean, Trevelyan.”

“You’ll freeze!”

It would be worth it. Garrett rolled to his feet, caught her at the waist with one shoulder before he had fully straightened.

“Garrett, you idiot, you’ll catch hypothermia!”

Her hands were pounding ineffectively at his back, which meant she didn’t actually want to stop him. Garrett should have seen that for the first warning, but no, he was bent on revenge.

“You’ll have to keep us both warm then.” He was already running toward the sea, arms full of giggling shrieking woman. Surely, the water couldn’t be  _that_  cold.

“You’re going to regret it more than I will,” Essa sang.

She wasn’t fighting him, and Garrett began to wonder if maybe this wasn’t the best idea he’d had lately, but he was committed now.

“It might even fall off,” Essa added helpfully.

“ _It will not_ ,” Garrett gritted, breath rushing in sharply when his feet touched the water, “ _fall off_.”

Maker’s breath, the water was cold. He charged ahead, managed another pair of stumbling strides that brought the water to his knees.

“Fuck.”

“Told you.” She didn’t have to sound so damned smug about it, but then, he was still holding her safely above the waves. “Amputation by frostbite,” Essa added sagely. “I’ve heard it’s misery.”

By contrast, she was like a giant heat rock. Garrett plunged forward another two steps, watched her nose crinkle, waited for her mouth to open on another bit of snark.

“Been nice knowing you, Trevelyan.”

“Been nice knowing  _you—"_

He tossed her without another word, and she hit the water with a scream. The splash—which he didn’t doubt she exaggerated—was a thing of beauty, water arcing high, droplets glittering like diamonds in the bright winter sun.

“Hawke!” Essa came up laughing and sputtering and steaming. She might not be able to make a proper snowball, but fire and heat…those came to her easily. “Oh, you’re in trouble now, mister.”

She stalked towards him, water dripping from her overalls and her hair, a little roll of smoke curling from her lips, and Garrett—arms wrapped tight around his shivering body—blurted out what he could only hope was a convincing, “Maker be praised.”

“Nothing but a bag of switches for you this Satinalia!” Essa declared.

“Switches, huh?” Bull called, and Garrett turned to see him holding a pile of towels. “Didn’t think you two were into that.”

Essa snorted, caught the towel that he tossed her. “If we don’t get Garrett warm and dry, he might not be into anything ever again.”

She stared just a little too pointedly at his crotch, Garrett thought, but he wasn’t turning down the towels. Essa wrapped one around her hair, then stepped close, one warm arm snug around his waist.

“Back to the house, everyone.”

“Is there cocoa?” Garrett asked.

“With peppermint marshmallows,” Essa replied. “You’re enjoying all of this just a little too much, you know.”

Garrett clung to his towels, clung to her, watched as their friends put the last touches on their sandmen and began packing up their beach bags.

“I’m really not.”

Essa laughed. “No, you’re not.”

She bussed a kiss to his shoulder, began herding him up the beach, hands rubbing briskly at his arms, his chest, a steady pulse of heat from her palms. Garrett made a low sound of appreciation.

“Add temperature play to our list,” he said, wagging his brows when she looked up in surprise.

“What was that about misusing magic?”

“Special occasion?” Garrett shrugged. A gust of wind whipped over the headland and he stuttered on a swift intake of breath. “Satinalia and all that.”

Essa’s eyes narrowed. “You’re going to be like this every holiday aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” They made the last steps of the short climb to the headland and he scooped her up in his arms, spinning them both in a circle, as much for warmth as to hear her swear at him.

“Dammit, Hawke.”

“Don’t think I’ll go swimming next year though.”

“By the Mabari!” She squirmed free, dragging him behind her to the house. “You must be freezing.”

He had been warmer, that was for damn sure.

“It’s not that bad.” She shot him a skeptical look, and he grinned. “But playing it up I bought us at least fifteen minutes alone in the shower.” Her laughter rang bright as song and he caught her in his arms again, kissed her soundly. “Compromise, right?” They stumbled onto the porch, laughing together. “This was what you wanted to do today.”

Her arms were around his neck, lips on his jaw, but she was laughing more than kissing him. They fumbled into the house, leaving a wake of wet clothes and happy mabari as they stumbled to the bathroom.

“After that dip in the water,” she snickered, slamming the door behind them, “it’ll be a wonder if you’re any use to me.”

“Eh,” he shrugged, nearly dropped her when she wormed one hand down between them, clever fingers groping, teasing as she worked the button of his jeans loose. “You already said that’s not the peak of my talents.”

“Ass.”

“I am that.” He took her face in his hands, kissed her once, slow and sweet before their usual combination of silliness and lust caught fire between them.

“Dammit, Garrett.” Her overalls were on the floor around her feet, and she had one arm out of her tshirt.  “You just—"

“What?” The laughter in her eyes was fading, bright merriment giving way to something richer, warmer. He knew they looked ridiculous, half dressed, half frozen, clothes and wet towels at varying states of disarray, but Garrett couldn’t think of anything but how beautiful she looked, how perfect the whole day was, sandmen, bloody snow cones, grinchy girlfriend and all.

“What?” he asked softly, waiting for her scowl.

“You should marry me,” she said, pulling her tshirt over her head.

“I should what?” He should what??? Surely he hadn’t heard her right.

“You should marry me,” Essa said. “Not right now…definitely not on some stupid holiday, but…soon.”

She pulled the towel from her hair, shook it down while Garrett tried and failed not to sputter.

“Did you just—?”

“It’s Satinalia, right?” She grinned up at him, teeth bared in something of a dare. “Go big or go home.”

“Fucking right.” The words left him in a rush. “Did you just propose?”

She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, lifted her chin in challenge. “Is that a yes?” she retorted.

Maker’s breath. It was so much more than a yes. Garrett pulled her into his arms, held her close, certain she could feel his heart racing.

“Yes, it’s a yes.” He kissed her hard, once, then again, more fiercely still. “And I am home.”

She kissed him back, lips filled with laughter and light. “Fucking right.”

He reached for the shower, turned the water on what he could only hope was a comfortable temperature considering he wasn’t looking at anything but her.

“This is all because you forgot to get me a present isn’t it?” he asked stepping carefully over the edge of the tub.

Essa climbed in after him, eyes rolling toward the ceiling as she pushed him back under the spray. “Shut up, Hawke.”


	12. Cockblock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the 2017 edition of our tumblr event Sex, Laughter, Honesty. For the Coitus ridiculous theme, a bit of anecdotal fic, prompted forever ago by slothquisitor who may or may not have been privy to the conversation that our wannabe mabari Bridgette is a menace and has thus earned the nsfw nickname chosen for this title :D
> 
> NSFW ish.

For Garrett and Essa, sex became less impulsive on rainy days or extra hot days, or really anytime—day or night—when the dogs were in the house. Neither of them was much for an audience, despite whatever their friends might insinuate, and no matter how intelligent, not every mabari understood the need for boundaries. Some were downright rude about it.

Greta, Pepper, and Petey were rarely bothered by kitchen kisses that turned steamy or couch snuggling that turned into foreplay. Caleb, however, was usually offended enough by the entire display—mostly likely because it forced him to move from his accustomed place between Garrett and Essa—that he would get up with a loud, long-suffering sigh and leave the room. Sometimes the house entirely if he thought, usually rightly, that Essa and Garrett might get loud in their ardor.

Bridgette was another thing entirely.

The black and tan mabari didn’t actually care about what her people were doing. Most of the time she was ambivalent to their actions, together or separately, but she loved one thing above all others: naps. Specifically, the utter indulgence of an afternoon nap with both of her humans in. the. bed.

“Do you think Cockblock is looking?” Essa asked, lips traveling down Garrett’s neck with unhurried bliss.

They were sprawled on the couch together, Garrett on his back with Essa stretched over him, legs fitted in the open sprawl of his. The question was as much proposition as anything. A cue that she wanted to move things to the bedroom whenever he was ready. Not that she was rushing him, she thought, as his hands trailed down her back, fingers dragging up the hem of her tank top so that he could scratch lightly along her spine.

“She’s always looking.”

Essa glanced up, cutting her gaze sideways across the den. Bridgette had been napping soundly on her favorite blanket for the better part of the morning. She cracked one brown eye open and thumped her tail at Essa.

“You want to—"

“Don’t say it!” Essa hissed. “She already knows we’re up to something.”

A year into happily ever after, and they were at a good place in their sex life. Her favorite place, truth be told. Sex was a mostly known entity, a precious given, an established part of cherished routine. Urgency was situational now—a light, teasing moment strung suddenly taut with desire—rather than the constant uncertainty of when or if that had been the early days.

“Nice.” Garrett nuzzled her jawline, breath puffing cool against her skin as he chuckled, hips lifting to press his erection to her stomach and give her credit for the pun. “And we’re always up to something.”

Essa snickered.  “We’ve been trying to be less predictable,” she reminded him.

Because damned if Bridgette didn’t beat them to the bed every damn time one of them even looked like they were heading for the bedroom.

“Then maybe…” His lips were on a whisper from hers. “…we should stop spending every Saturday that we can…” Essa scowled at him and he nipped at her bottom lip. “…making out on the couch.”

He kissed her properly then, arms tight around her waist, dragging her up more snugly against him, lips and teeth a gentle tease until her heart was pounding hard and fast in her chest.

“We are playing video games,” Essa retorted breathlessly, though damned if she could remember where her controller had gone. Had they idled long enough that the system logged them out…again?

“Mmhmmm…” His hands moved lower, spreading wide at across her ass, canting her forward until they both groaned.

“Sometimes we watch movies,” she pointed out.

“Right.” Garrett bit lightly at her collarbone, then not so lightly.

Essa had slung one leg over his hip before she realized it, was already halfway into a near perfect grind when Bridgette jumped up, eyes bright and tail wagging so hard Essa thought the dog’s behind was going to lift her back feet from the floor.

“Dammit.”

She glared down at Garrett. “You distracted me and now she’s definitely—”

“You distracted me,” he returned, easing into a sitting position. “Has she had her dental treat today?”

Bridgette’s floppy ears perked up at the words and Essa grinned. “She hasn’t! I’ll get her in the kitchen.”

“I’ll get the bedroom door.”

Essa leaned forward and kissed him once, a hard cheerful smack. “Good man.”

They broke as if from a football huddle, Garrett smacking Essa on the ass as she leapt up first, scurrying toward the kitchen with Bridgette prancing merrily behind her.  Caleb, Greta, Pepper, and Petey followed at varying speeds and Essa stood, one foot tapping the linoleum impatiently as she waited for the sound of their bedroom door closing.

“Ha!” She shouted, tossing treats up in the air to be caught by eager mabari. Bridgette rolled her eyes, took her treat to the rug at the back door and flopped down. “Cockblock blocked!”

Bridgette lifted her head, dental treat hanging from her lips like a cigar. The look of skepticism on her face made it plain this subterfuge was only going to work once. They’d have to get faster, or more creative, in the future.

“You can nap with us later,” Essa relented with a sigh.

Bridgette would, of course, knock on the bedroom door when she was done with her treat, but they could ignore that.

“Stop appeasing the enemy and get your ass in here!” Garrett called from their bedroom. His laughter was mostly muffled by the door, but it was opened a crack.

“You better be naked, Hawke!” Essa hollered back, darting from the kitchen and into the hall. She could see his grin in the narrow opening between the door. “I’m coming in hot!”


	13. 8 Seconds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW. 
> 
> Posted for the 2017 edition of our tumblr event Sex, Laughter, Honesty (a week of multifandom silly, smutty, sex positivity, you can find more at sexlaughterhonesty.tumblr.com). This was for the daily theme of fictionalized personal anecdotes. 
> 
> I grew up riding horses and participating in small rodeo shoes and it...creates a certain muscle memory. My partner has trolled me since this little discovery of ours 16ish years ago. As I gave Essa some of my own background, I think (hope) the hilarity translates properly. Also, Garrett would definitely continue to troll Essa with this for the rest of their lives. I have proof.

 

Garrett almost missed it the first time, he brushed off the quick lift of her left hand as nothing more than a moment of lost balance. They were very much preoccupied despite the sudden move he’d had to make once he realized he had a dog toy under his ass, and he didn’t want to interrupt Essa any more than he already had. Her thighs were clasped tight to his hips, and she rose above him like a siren, eyes closed, hair a wild tumble, her second orgasm held back only by the clench of her fists.

“Are you through?” she asked.

There was a frown between her eyes and she had gone maddeningly still, right fist pressed to his stomach while she waited.

“Yeah,” Garrett grunted, settling back into place. He filled his hands with her hips, leaned up to press his teeth to her galloping pulse. Her moan was sweet and he grinned against her throat, tasted salt. “Well, no.”

Not even close.

~*~

The second time, Garrett unbalanced Essa on purpose, and he absolutely didn’t miss the maneuver for what it was. They were wrestling, and she had managed to get him pinned and while having her on top of him was nothing short of perfect, she looked just a bit too smug. He lifted his hips, fully prepared to toss her onto the bed beside him.

Only to have her hold on like a…well, there was only word for it.

The posture was…distinctive, and her realization and his recognition almost simultaneous. Essa dropped her left hand in a flash, shoved her arm behind her back while her entire body blushed, rose so bright her summer tan was but a memory.

“Don’t you say a word!” she hissed. Her back was still straight, her thighs snug to his hips. Her right hand was splayed wide, low on his belly, position unmistakable.

They had been to the Free Marches Annual Rodeo just a week before.

Garrett grinned up at her, tongue tangling on a thousand innuendos, most of which he knew would get him maimed.

“Not even one?”

Essa leapt to her feet, stalking across the room. He waited for her to slam the door behind her before yelling, “YEEHAW!”

~*~

She pouted. Maker’s breath, how she pouted! Essa had a straw cowboy hat she liked to wear, one she had bartered from him last year in fact, and she knew how much he loved to see her wearing it whether they were watching westerns in tacky pajamas or lounging together on the beach. She had even started wearing it when she was at the stable with the horses, but after that irresistible “yeehaw” she had thrown it at his head and vowed “never again.”

Garrett was still pretty sure it was worth it.

It took him a while to put the pieces together. They might not have any secrets but they were still learning all the little details of one another’s lives, and baby pictures and old years books weren’t exactly things Essa kept around. He had to bide his time, catch her on a day when she had horses on the brain, ask real casual-like if she’d ever shown horses in her youth.

“You mean with the polish and the brass and the proper hats?” Essa sneered in disbelief, hitching one hip to the fence just outside the barn. “No. That was for the Trevelyan family. The Larksons are rodeo stock. Fin and I competed in team penning, and I spent the summer I was thirteen with my hair cut short and wearing a heavy vest so I could ride broncs and bulls. Won a couple of trophies they took back once they found out I was a girl.” She shook her head, rolled her eyes. “Cowfolks, right?”

Her favorite therapy horse plodded over for a scratch and she was—thank the Maker—too distracted to notice Garrett’s grin.

“You rode broncs?”

How he asked with a straight face, Garrett would never know.

“And bulls,” Essa nodded, oblivious to all the ways he was a horrible, horrible person, oblivious to all the ways this was going to bite her on the ass later.  “Stupidest thing you can do in eight seconds.”

Oh, Garrett highly doubted that.

~*~

Garrett had never really seen himself as a patient man, but he waited. He waited until it was hot enough outside that Essa decided pouting with him wasn’t worth going without her hat. He waited until she stopped eyeing him with suspicion from the other end of the couch during western nights– _“horses are sacred, Garrett!” “no euphemisms about riding, Garrett.”_  He waited until she stopped expecting innuendo every time someone said the word “ride.”

And then he waited until she got cocky in the bedroom.

He’d had a long day, but just because they both had physically demanding jobs, didn’t mean either of them thought they should go without sex. Her day had been less strenuous, so she was on top, nothing but perfection in the arch of her back, the slow rhythm of her hips. She had her hands splayed across his thighs, was leaning back on her hands, and the view was just magnificent enough that Garrett was already wondering if maybe he should just let it all go–enjoy the ride so to speak–but Andraste’s ass! He’d been waiting months, and she had insulted his stamina at some point this evening. Not that she was entirely wrong. She was two orgasms in and he was not going to last as long as such a view deserved if she didn’t stop shuddering around him.

“Es…”

She didn’t slow, didn’t stop, didn’t so much as glance down at him. Her brow was furrowed and he knew exactly what that concentration usually got him. He was a fool, surely.

“Es…”

She frowned, fingers flexing until he could feel the blunt edges of her nails scraping against his skin.

“Dammit, not yet.” Her hips rolled, slower, wider, and Garrett bit his lip. No help for it. He wasn’t going to make it if he didn’t do something drastic. “Just…”

Garrett bucked.

Al’right so it was the inverse of a buck, but he lifted his hips with every last bit of energy he had and tried to throw her. Essa’s shriek of indignation was a thing of beauty, and fuck, no, he didn’t unseat her. Those gorgeous thighs clamped down on his hips and her spine straightened, core tightening in a way he was only a little ashamed to admit he enjoyed immensely. Her left hand flew up beside her head even as her right slapped at his stomach and suddenly she was swearing, furiously, threatening his life and most of his vanity.

Dear, sweet, mabari. It was worth it.

Garrett didn’t even try to stop his laughter. The deep, braying guffaws echoed off their bedroom ceiling.

“I knew it!” His eyes sealed tight with mirth, but they couldn’t contain his tears.

“I will. kill. you, Garrett Hawke.”

Essa was mad, but the best and worst part—depending on which of them you asked, he supposed—was that she was actually mad because she wasn’t mad. He knew her well enough by now, and there was certainly room in their sex life for play. Not that she was ever going to admit to this one.

“KILL YOU.”

When he opened his eyes–tears still streaming down tight cheeks–her face was flushed bright red, blush splotching her neck and breasts. She hit him with a glare as she fell forward, body still clenched tight around him. Garrett’s laughter turned into a howl.

“Death,” she sobbed around her own chortles, smacking him on the arm. “Dismemberment!” The threat trailed off weakly as he began to thrust gently inside of her, and a moan followed. “Maker, fucking take you, Hawke, I hate you.”

He bussed a kiss to her shoulder, caught his breath at the way they shifted together when she straightened up suddenly.

“I will kill you,” she repeated, grabbing his pillow and bringing it down over his face, feigning–mostly feigning–suffocating him.

Garrett was still laughing too hard to care, chest tight with merriment and lust. “Are you going to stop having sex with me?”

The words were muffled. Essa jerked the pillow back and glowered down at him.

“ _That_  is what you’re worried about?” Essa screeched. She wiggled her hips, lips flat with a scowl, eyes still dark with pleasure. “I should.”

But she wasn’t done with him.

“Then will you please, for the love of merciful Andraste…” He reached for the side of the bed, fingers fumbling for a familiar straw brim. This was it, this was the part she’d probably kill him over. “…just wear the hat?”


	14. Sated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a little NSFW, though it’s mostly realistic post-coital silliness. I figure this occurs sometime after the main arc, when these two were making up for lost time, but since these assholes are also based not so loosely on my relationship…it could just be any random weekend after They’ve had to be too social for too many weekends before lol 

“Es?” 

The syllable was more croak than murmur; Garrett gave up any pretense of sounding sexy and cleared his throat, hacking a bit as he reached for the water bottle on the bedside table. She was lying on top of him, almost unconscious and the movement shifted her just right, or would have if they weren’t on the other side of bliss and oversensitive for it. Essa made a little sound of distress and pulled away quickly enough to wound. The noise Garrett made then definitely couldn’t have been mistaken for sexy.

“I’m sorry!” 

Essa lurched back across the bed toward him, hands outstretched to pat his slowly softening penis in comfort he definitely didn’t need. Garrett dropped the bottle and caught her wrist with a laugh.

“I’m fine.” Another croak. He retrieved the bottle with his other hand, took a swig before passing it to her. “Fucking blight, I think I’m fine,” he amended sinking back onto the pillows. “That’s a record right?”

He was exhausted, she was exhausted—he could tell that by the eyelids at halfmast over sleepy grey eyes. Damn if he didn’t feel better than he had in weeks.

“Gotta be.” Essa grinned around the bottle mouth, then tipped it back. Water splashed down her chin, but Garrett couldn’t manage much more than a sigh of appreciation. Her grin only widened. “You’re not actually sated, are you, Hawke?”

A tease there, more than a little taunt. Maker’s breath, he loved the woman.

“Well…I wouldn’t say that.” Physically, he had to be. Garrett ran his tongue over his bottom lip, watched her sleepy eyes turn to smoke. “Biological disadvantage, Trevelyan.” He held his hand out for the bottle. “You’ll have to let me live vicariously through you.”

And he was going to have to hydrate. They both were.

Essa laughed, but the sound was rough. She’d surprised them both, he thought, with just how vocal she could be in her appreciation for the very good work they did between them.

“You live vicariously through me anymore tonight and I’ll be calling Bethany for iv fluids.” She flopped over onto her stomach, stretching her legs out across the sheets. “If you want any snuggling, you’d better do it while I’m too tired to move.”

Garrett chuckled, dropped one hand to the base of her spine as he sprawled beside her. “How’s this?”

Essa wasn’t much for cuddling, at least not when she was asleep. They both ran too damn hot, and that was when they weren’t burning up the sheets.

“Perfect,” she sighed. “You know I can’t move, right?”

He was far too proud of that fact to have missed it. “Fifteen minutes,” he said, “then it’s bathroom and sleep.”

“We’re doing this all again tomorrow aren’t we?” she mumbled into her pillow hopefully.

“Damn right we are.”


	15. Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think one of the myths we too often see about recovery (be it addiction, abuse, etc) is that we’re just magically healed or over something one day, and that’s not (generally) how it works. In my modern au and the noir au, Garrett’s mother is alive and his relationship with her is strained. A life of grief and hardship have shaped Leandra into a too familiar figure, and a lot of Garrett’s struggles with self worth are hidden beneath all that swagger.
> 
> tw: mention of emotional abuse, gaslighting, grief, death, etc. Angst with healing.

There were days—weeks, whole months even—when Garrett Hawke knew he was good enough. Days when his past was just an interesting backstory, a foundation for the life he had now, a life that he couldn’t believe was his. A life that he loved more than he had ever thought possible. Those days had increased in degree and duration since he and Caleb found Essa, but he liked to think she had nudged him in a healthy direction rather than being responsible for his journey.

For her part, she didn’t like any associated credit for how far he had come, but Garrett knew he wouldn’t be where he was without her. Not so quickly, and certainly not as strongly. She hadn’t made him a better person or anything so trite, but she had stood between him and his past—a stalwart and unflinching force—for long enough for him to start to heal. He was almost there now. There were scars to be sure, and the odd ache in his bones during bad weather, but the doubt and recrimination that had once plagued his every choice and every failure…those were finally mostly memory.

Didn’t mean he didn’t have bad days, and today was one of the worst in a while.

“Bag,” Essa warned a breath before her hands slapped to the other side of the beat-to-hells canvas punching bag they kept hanging in the barn.

Garrett pulled his punches for a heartbeat then let his fists fall all the harder, matching his fury to Essa’s strength, thanking the Maker for how she held, unyielding, dauntless, time and time again. He didn’t know how long he’d been out here, nor how long she stood just beyond the haze of sweat in his eyes, but there still too much heat in his hands by the time she spoke again.

“Your mother?” Essa asked.

The question was rhetorical. Of course his mother. No one else could ruin his entire day with a fifteen minute phone call, and there had been too fucking many of those this week.

“I just…I don’t understand how someone can be so unhappy…so willfully miserable.”

It was an old conversation, a persisting mystery, one that he knew he would never solve, and maybe he didn’t want to. A person had to be broken beyond all to be so devoted.

“She’s in rare form this week,” Essa admitted.

Garrett was grateful. He was never sure if his mother was going for a personal worst or if he was simply too damn sensitive. He had certainly been trained to think the latter. Leandra had gotten harder and harder to tolerate the farther he got from her over the years. Insulated as he was now in the life he and Essa were building, his patience for her particular brand of cruelty was at an all-time low.

“So it’s not just me,” he muttered, throwing another punch.

“Never is,” Essa replied, confirming, reassuring. “This week is worse.”

Garrett felt some of the tightness ease in his chest. Leandra had lost too much in her life to appreciate anything else—anyone else—she might have. Most days, Garrett was resigned to letting her suffer in her own misery, but when Leandra’s bitterness lashed out at Bethany…

He struck the bag hard, heard Essa’s grunt. Her stance held, and he glanced around the curve of the bag to find a grin waiting. There was comforting chill in her eyes.

“Some people are just rotten,” she said, lifting one shoulder in a callus shrug that he often envied. “Your mother’s one of them.”

“ _Your_ mother’s one of them,” Garrett retorted, more habit than levity, but that would come. Essa was adept at talking him out of a funk, and he was past ready to let her.

“Yeah she is.” Essa said bright as Sera and as full of mischief. Both women knew a little something of the poison Garrett carried. “But she had the sense to lose my phone number some years ago.”

And Essa’d had the sense to let her. Garrett was still working out why he couldn’t just let his mother go.

“You want me to tell Leandra not to call you anymore?”

She came around the bag, stepped between his next punch and tired canvas. Garrett was fast, but not fast enough to pull it; Essa caught his fist in both hands, lifted bright red knuckles to her lips.

“Or I could set something of hers on fire for you.”

She placed a butterfly kiss to each knuckle, all the while avoiding his gaze. He knew she was teasing him, but he also knew she would do it. He had to admit he loved that about her, almost as much as he loved her for letting him fight his own battles.

“No, I just…” Garrett sighed. “I need to cool off before tomorrow.”

Bethany and Fin were getting married, and Bethany—having been born with a patience Garrett would never share—was indulging their mother. There was to be a grand party the night before Bethany and Fin’s much more private wedding, all the pomp and pretense of Kirkwall’s elite, a good ol’ fashioned HIghtown spectacle. Bethany swore she didn’t mind, and maybe she didn’t, she had no few friends from the hospital who were going to be there and she enjoyed their extended family, especially their Fereldan cousins, the Couslands, whom they saw too rarely.

But for the better part of a week, Leandra had been on Garrett’s case about one thing or another. His tuxedo, his tattoos, his job. This morning, she had passive-aggressively assured him that neither he nor his half feral girlfriend—he’d have been angrier about that if Essa hadn’t loved the description so much—could hope to match such a fine gathering of accomplished people. She didn’t expect much for herself of course, she knew she had failed him as a mother and wouldn’t dare ask anything of him, but could he please try not to embarrass his sister?

It was an old song, and a bad one, and rarely did the tune get stuck in his head anymore, but of course he wanted Bethany’s weekend to be perfect. Of course he wanted to give her and Fin the moons and anything else they wanted.

And of course Bethany had been as pissed as a rage demon when she caught wind of Leandra’s insinuations.

“Bethany says she won’t go,” Garrett said, running one hand through sweat damp hair.

“Fin’s more than happy to thumb his nose at some snobs,” Essa agreed.

“I don’t want them to,” he sighed. “I just want everything to be perfect for her.”

“I know.”

If anyone in the world understood, it was Essa. She’d burn all of Thedas to the ground for Fin. Garrett loved that about her too.

“But nothing’s perfect,” she said, giggling a little when he made an obvious display of ogling her breasts in rebuttal.

She had come out to the barn wearing a faded white tank top with nothing under it. It would be a damn shame not to let her know how much he appreciated her devotion to distracting him.

“No one is perfect,” she added with quiet emphasis.

“I know that.” He reached for her then, and she stepped into his arms with an ease that never ceased to humble him. “You’re close though.”

“I’m not,” Essa laughed.

He nuzzled her hair—salt and sun still trapped in beach tangles—and placed a kiss to her temple.

“Well, they are at least.” Garrett swept his hands up her sides, thumbs brushing lightly along the undersides of her breasts.

“I might give you that.”

She leaned into his touch, and then her arms came round, pulling him close despite the summer heat, the not inconsiderable layer of sweat he was wearing. Garrett dropped his head to her shoulder, held her too tightly for a long, shuddering breath.

“She’s missing out,” she murmured, running magic cooled palms up his spine, the back of his neck, fingers carding through his hair like balm. “You know that don’t you?”

“I do.” But so was he, and he had to learn to live with that. “I just—“

He wished he didn’t love her anyway. He wished that a part of him wasn’t always waiting for his mother to wake up, to come back, to be the woman she had been in his childhood. It wasn’t fair to him. Void take him, it wasn’t fair to her—people changed—but it was so fucking hard for him to accept that whatever love and laughter Leandra had possessed when he was a boy, she had borrowed from Malcolm. And whatever of that she’d managed to cling to after he was gone…well that had died with Carver.

“I wish…”

But that was wasted energy too.

“I know,” Essa whispered. “It’s hard enough grieving the dead, mourning the living…that’s something worse.”

She held him tight, and Garrett hugged her back, listened to the slow rise and fall of her breath, the steady beat of her heart.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” There was a smile in her voice, and he knew there would be tears in her eyes. Temper tears and heartache for him. He couldn’t help adding that to list of Leandra’s sins.

“Now come on.” Essa slowly released him and took a step back. “There’s a very worried pack of mabari pacing a ditch in front of the gate. We should have just enough time for a swim before we get ready. I laid out those red satin panties you like so much.”

“What if I wanted to wear the red satin panties?” Garrett leered at her.

“Done!” Essa snapped as if they’d just come to a deal. Her eyes were wide with mischief. “I won’t wear any.” She waggled her brows. “Then every time your mother gives you that little nose curl of hers, you can just think about the scandal lurking beneath our formalwear.”

She looked so pleased with herself that Garrett could only laugh. “Throw in a garden make out session or some coatroom sex and you’ve got yourself a deal, Trevelyan.”

“Garden sex,” she haggled.

“Daring,” Garrett mused, as if outdoor sex wasn’t their usual. “I think I can work with that.”

“Perfect.” Essa clapped her hands to seal the deal, and for a moment her eyes were dark, a touch serious. “To me you are.” She let out a slow breath. “You know that, right?”

He believed her, he always did, but she never minded telling him, just in case he doubted.

“Yeah.” 

Then, before he lost any more of a beautiful day with the woman he loved, Garrett reached out, caught her in a stumbling, tickling hug, fingers dancing over her ribs until she was squealing and breathless and clinging to him. 

“I know that.”

Essa turned her face into his shoulder, bit a kiss against his skin. “Good.”


	16. DragonCon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> @slothquisitor asked for the prompt “Now power down, sass robot” and somehow this became about life with autism. (I am autistic, though this is probably more widely known on tumblr than here). As some of you know, Essa is coded autistic, specifically with most of my own experiences. The BH and I are constantly pushing my boundaries because it’s important to me and sometimes we have more success than others, but always, always we make it alright in the end. This ran long because of real life i guess? This falls after the main arc of Heatwaves, a year after these losers are married.

It was their one year anniversary, and somehow Garrett had talked Essa into going to DragonCon. Okay, so it wasn’t much of a mystery. The man loved dragons probably more than anyone who didn’t see himself as a Grimdark Edgelord Master of the Dark Web should, and she couldn’t complain. That scaly lingerie she had surprised him with last Kissing Day had been damn inspired. A little smoke out of her nostrils and the man was worshiping her in new and inventive ways.

Which for them was pretty darn impressive.

But this was just too much. This wasn’t ridiculousness in the safety and sanctity of their cottage, this was public—thousands of people public—and there were plenty of dragons. She couldn’t throw a stick without hitting one scantily clad dragon or another. Most of the costumes here made her lingerie look downright conservative, and no, Essa wasn’t jealous, but she  _was_  hot and tired and hungry.

And regretting her worbla armor.

Maybe she  _was_  jealous. She could certainly do with fewer layers about now. It was just…she had worked so damned hard on her costume.

It was supposed to be replica armor from the Dragon Age. Essa had worked for weeks—which she now knew wasn’t nearly long enough—and she didn’t have Dagna’s hand with worbla  _and_  she hadn’t had time to get help. She had considered just wearing a character tshirt from their favorite video game and calling it a day, but Garrett had been so excited to wear his rogue gear and who was she— _really_ —to do anything that might discourage him from those leather pants?

Still, they’d been in it all day, wandering the booths, standing in line to meet perfectly nice celebrities who Essa had exactly zero interest in meeting, attending panel interviews and photo-ops, and honestly, they’d both thought she’d have more fun that she was having. She was trying to be a good sport, but her armor was clunky—she looked more like an early Atomic Age space bot than than a Grey Warden—and she was sick of wearing shoes, and Andraste’s ass how many people could they legally pack into a convention center???

She had resorted to silence about an hour ago, trudging along behind Garrett carrying his damn bags like a dutiful little page, but this…this was just too much.

“I am not carrying that for the rest of the afternoon,” Essa declared, folding her arms beneath her worbla clad breasts and jabbing herself in the hip with the last commemorative special edition cheaply made replica sharp something Garrett had bought seven tables ago. “And you are not hanging that on my fucking wall.”

It probably wasn’t as bad as all that, but the wall hanging—the heavy woven tapestry of an Abyssal High Dragon soaring over the burning mountains—was better on a stone wall in a cold, drafty castle, not their small, airy, beachy cottage. Essa wasn’t much about design and aesthetic, but she knew a clash when she saw it and she knew added insulation.

And she wasn’t budging.

Garrett’s brows lifted. “Oh, I’m not?”

It had been some time since she implied the cottage was anything but theirs.

“No,” Essa decided, ignoring the cool assessment in his dark eyes. “Absolutely not. I may have married a Dungeons & Dragons reject, but that does not mean I have to live in a badly decorated tavern.”

“If I recall” –and damn it, later she would realize he was teasing her, but not right then, not hemmed in on both sides by crowds of cheerful convention-goers— “it’s my house too. You told me I should treat it as such.”

Oh, he wanted to go there, did he?

“Not unless you want me sleeping on the porch for the rest of our lives,” Essa snapped. It wasn’t the best threat—she slept on the porch half the time anyway, and he with her—but it was all she could manage right now.

“Alright.” Garrett nodded politely to the vendor, as he caught Essa’s elbow, dragging her to the mostly vacant end of a nearby table while Essa stomped and sneered. “Power down, sass robot.”

“Sass! Robot!? You said my armor was fine!”

Garrett nodded to the orange plastic chair beside her. “Sit.”

“I don’t need—!” She didn’t need to sit. She needed to go.

“Sit,” he repeated, quietly, firmly.

Essa sat, but she wasn’t a good sport about that, and they were going to talk about him ordering her around like a damn mabari. “And do not call me a robot, I—”

“Es, my love.”

It was the endearment that did it, and he knew it, damn him. It wasn’t as if this was new. She hadn’t had many meltdowns in the time they’d been together, but this wasn’t the first. Essa fell silent except for the rustle of shopping bags.

“Here.” He dug around in the pouch at his belt, handed her a pack of beef jerky someone had been selling as druffalo. “We’ve missed all your tells today and I’m sorry.”

“We…I…” Essa sighed. There was no getting around it. “I’m sorry too.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Eat.” He took the bags from her, arranged them carefully under the table at her feet while Essa chewed ruthlessly on a piece of jerky. “Now give me that robot armor.”

“I can’t—!” She wasn’t what anyone would call bashful, but she didn’t have a lot on under said armor. She certainly wasn’t clunking around the con in her boots and sports bra.

“You can.” He pushed the jerky bag toward her again. Essa ate another piece. “I’ll give you my shirt. You have dresses that are shorter.”

“Fiiiiiinnnnneee.” Essa sighed. “Can’t have it said I passed on a chance to get you out of it.”

“No, we can’t have that.” He caught the eye of a guy about Essa’s size in spectacular Blessed Age armor and waved him over. “You any good with worbla?”

The guy waved one hand at his costume and Garrett nodded.

“Can you do anything with that?”

“Yeah, sure. The lines are good, she just needs…”

“Oh, no.” Essa interrupted. She was mostly out of her breastplate and grieves and she didn’t care what the stuff needed. “Can you use it? If you can, you can just take it. Because I am never wearing this again.”

It took them some time and some shifting around of packages to free up some bags, but eventually Essa was indeed standing in the convention center in nothing but her boots, athletic shorts, and sports bra. Garrett whistled, then handed her his leather vest and blousy linen shirt, earning no few whistles of his own.

“You can ogle my new tattoo while you eat,” he said, flexing his pecs at her. They had gotten tats together for their anniversary, and Essa was absurdly taken with the grey-eyed fire dragon guarding his heart. “And then we’ll go back upstairs to the room and nap.”

A nap? What was she, three? 

“But you wanted to go that panel—!”

And clearly, she needed that nap, but--

“And I can.” Garrett stopped her with a finger to her lips. “Or maybe I’ll decide I want to stay and ogle  _your_  new tattoo.”

The endless possibilities of that aside, Essa shook her head. “I don’t want you missing out because of me.”

She knew it was hard. Sometimes she couldn’t handle the crowds, the over-stimulation. She tended to avoid them, but she also liked to push herself out of her comfort zone. Garrett was very good at holding her hand when she did. Too good, maybe.

“And what have I told you?”

He was close, but not enough to crowd. “Look at me.” He waited until she had made and held eye contact, then brushed a kiss to her temple. “I will tell you when I think I’m missing out, and I will do the things that I want to do. But, Es…”

“What?” Essa grumped.

“You have to trust me.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Of course I trust you.”

“Then you have to believe me when I tell you that I’m not missing out on anything being with you.”


End file.
